What's Owed
by ruth7019
Summary: Catastrophic events culminate in an unexpected kinship between some of Hogwarts' most tenacious foes, while inciting bitter battles between best friends. Rated 'M' for violence.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: JK Rowling's characters.

**WHAT'S OWED**

**Unknown Forest, June 1996**

_Hell on earth._

_Towering pyres blaze coldly around the clearing deep within the forest. Used exclusively for investiture into the fold, this night the monoliths have been erected to strip one of the faithful of that honor. _

"_My dear friends, we are assembled here tonight for a lesson… in enlightenment." Voldemort pauses for effect, eyeing those Summoned to bear witness to the fate of this traitor. "Disregard of loyalty amongst my followers is intolerable. Those who believe that treachery and defiance will go unpunished are lamentably misinformed."_

_He directs his narrow, blood-red eyes to the spectacle at the center of the gathering as he forces the unresisting body up and down with a languid motion of his wand. No follower – no matter how obsequious – escapes the Dark Lord's ruthless attentions. Yet, none ever bore their punishments so stoically as this one. This wizard remains, unnervingly – one might dare say, _stubbornly _– silent._

_Suddenly, the body begins to spin more rapidly through the air so that the wizard's robes flutter around him like great flaps of charred flesh, faster and faster, until they are a blur – then, the body crashes to the ground with a vulgar thud._

_Eyes flick anxiously between the Dark Lord and the wizard lying motionless on the ground until the latter slowly rolls onto his back, raising a trembling hand to his face. The fall has knocked his mask askew; inadvertently, his wavering hand rights it. Displeased, Voldemort speaks again in that high, cruel voice._

"_Lucius, Bellatrix, Antonin... Join me!" __The three Death Eaters hasten from their positions within the circle to stand beside him, bodies leaning forward tensely, awaiting his next directive. "_Crucio!_" _

_His chuckle chills the air as he once again aims his wand at the prone body. His cohorts zealously follow suit. _

_Their target writhes beneath the blended force of all four curses. His hands, normally so deliberate and elegant in their actions, are reduced to grotesquely twisting in on themselves, producing a crackling sound reminiscent of a cheerful, cozy fire, but is truly the snapping of bones. His knees jerk up to his stomach, forcing his long, lean limbs into the fetal position. Cackling insanely, Bellatrix takes a more sadistic interest in watching the wizard's reaction and circles around to his left side, intensifying the strength of her curse so that his spasming body rolls in the other direction to face the Dark Lord. _

"_There's an old Muggle saying: 'Silence is golden' – but I disagree…" Voldemort giggles darkly. "Wormtail!"_

_A squat man, his head littered with ragged tufts of hair, squeaks and scurries over, sparkling silver hand fidgeting nervously. _

"_Make a fire for our esteemed guest! He appears chilled… trembling so. Warm his hands! And include the Mark… he is no longer worthy of it."_

"_Y-yes, my Lord, a-a-as you wish." Wormtail takes careful aim at his old schoolmate, then shrieks: "_Incendio!_" _

_His prey's thin lips, just visible below his mask, contort into a ghastly rictus of agony, yet he is either unable or unwilling to give voice to his suffering as his hands are engulfed in flames. Tense moments later, Voldemort's grayish lips, thinned in anticipation, curl upward when, finally, a needle-sharp scream issues from the wizard on the ground. _

_A delightfully inhuman sound; he shutters his ghastly red eyes, savoring the shrill, hollow, ring of it, fancying it is even sweeter than the piteous howls of the Potter whelp from a year ago. Humming contentedly, he unmasks his victim with a careless flick of his wand._

Upon seeing that face, a loud crack reverberates, and Harry Potter awakens with a piercing scream of his own_._

*WO

**Harry Potter's Bedroom, Surrey, June 1996**

"Sirius!"

Harry jerked upright, panting as if he had just run a five-minute marathon. He dug the heels of his palms into his eyes furiously and pressed his fingers hard against his burning scar, trying to make sense of the image he had just witnessed. Littered with goose bumps and drenched with sweat, he had no idea how long he'd been screaming. Thank goodness the Dursleys weren't home.

"What was _that_?" His voice wavered, horrified.

_It couldn't have been Sirius. Sirius was… _

Harry hated thinking about it, but over the past week he'd thought of little else, seeing the scene as though it was on a loop, playing out over and over in his waking dreams – or in his nightmares when he had the misfortune to fall asleep.

Beyond the sleeplessness, the aftereffect of watching his godfather fall into that veil in the Department of Mysteries left Harry feeling as though his insides were being crushed in a vice. A week later, the feeling persisted, often leaving him so breathless he had to grasp hold of something solid until it passed.

_It wasn't Sirius_, he thought. _The eyes were wrong..._ _They weren't gray and haunted like Sirius's_.

No, the eyes he'd seen had been black; black depthless eyes imbued with hatred and pain, reminding him of… Snape!

The thought of being on the receiving end of the _Cruciatus Curse_ made Harry's skin prickle and he wondered what Snape had done to deserve such punishment. Harry had first-hand knowledge of the agony of that particular Unforgivable, having experienced it a year earlier during the final task of the Triwizard Tournament.

The feeling of his bones grinding together like broken glass while every muscle tensed rigidly around them, intensifying the pain as his body spasmed uncontrollably, had created a rather indelible memory. One wand, Voldemort's wand, had inflicted that damage, but that feeling times _four_? Though Harry blamed Snape –despite Dumbledore's claim to the contrary – for losing Sirius, and the fact that there was no love lost between he and his hated teacher, Harry would still never wish that sort of torture on the man.

But, was the image _real_? His last vision had borne painful and deadly consequences. He acknowledged, with some bitterness for both himself and Snape, that had he mastered Occlumency as he was supposed to last year, he would have been able to successfully block his mind against Voldemort; he wouldn't have believed Sirius to be at the Ministry, but safe at Grimmauld Place.

_But, that's not the matter at the moment, is it_, he thought, shaking himself. He had to alert Albus Dumbledore about what he had seen. The clock on the nightstand read_ 8:30 p.m_. Recalling the Dursley's noisy departure sometime before six o'clock to have dinner with one of Uncle Vernon's bosses, Harry knew they weren't due to return for at least another hour, leaving him plenty of time to send and receive a response.

After reaching for his glasses, Harry switched on his bedside lamp. He then retrieved a strip of parchment, a quill and some ink from his book bag. Using his Transfiguration text as a portable desk, he wrote:

_Professor Dumbledore,_

_I just had a vision of someone, Snape, I think, being tortured by Voldemort, Lucius, Bellatrix and someone named Antonin. All four were using the _Cruciatus Curse_ on him at the same time. It was like the visions I've been having, as if I was seeing it though Voldemort's eyes. If Snape is okay, you can disregard this, but if not, I saw it and he's hurt bad._

_Harry Potter_

"Hedwig," he called. The owl, just recently returned from hunting, dropped her half-eaten meal of a field mouse onto the bottom of her cage to fly to him, sticking out her leg.

"Take this to Dumbledore."

Clutching the note in her claws, she hooted softly, and gracefully soared out the open window. Harry stood, watching until the darkness enveloped her.

He then glanced over at the little mouse carcass in Hedwig's cage and his stomach rumbled hungrily, a reminder that he hadn't taken many meals since returning to Privet drive. He thought he might nip downstairs for a bite to eat while the Dursleys were still out, but unbidden, Snape's tortured face floated into his mind, making his stomach flip and ruining whatever burgeoning appetite he'd had.

Sighing, he shuffled back to curl up on his bed, and wait.

*WO

**Hogsmeade, June 1996 (08)**

_Running…_

The road ahead was his only path to safety.

Poised high in the night sky, a sliver of moon cast a gloomy glow. Slow-moving clouds obscured its weak light making his passage even more treacherous, yet he dared not use magic to light his way. Desperate, he tried to penetrate the murky canopy of the surrounding wood, but it was impossible to focus through weeping, slitted eyes.

_The gates, the gates, if I can make it to the gates _was the rhythmic chant keeping time with his erratic heartbeat, driving his tortured steps.

He was a physical wreck; every inch of his body emanated pain. Helpfully, the gusting wind disguised his progress, but it also muted the sound of someone's approach. Regardless, his hearing was tautly attuned for anything unusual.

Unusual. Weakened and abused as he was, he knew his escape had been unusual; _impossible_, even. How he had arrived in Hogsmeade from that unknown forest eluded him. One moment he had been in agony, and the next he was face down on the road just outside the wizarding villa –

_Damn it!_

A violent spasm gripped his right leg. Pitched forward, his foot twisted, catching on the ruptured hem of his robes. Instinctively, he threw his hands out in front of him to soften his fall, but he couldn't help screaming hoarsely as his ruined palms skated across the sharp stones littering the road.

At that moment, a volcanic sensation erupted in his chest, stealing his breath. Despite his throat feeling full of splinters when he inhaled, he hacked up an abnormally dark clot. With a pained groan, he spat it onto the road, then mentally chastised himself: There was more at stake beyond his body's wretched condition.

Sharp, stabbing pains of protest made him unsteady as he forced himself onto his knees. The road swam blurrily beneath him, making his balance even more precarious, but once on his feet, he staggered forward, trying to maintain his awkward momentum.

_The gates…_

Interminable minutes later, he spotted the distinctive winged boars atop Hogwarts' gates. Wheezing wetly, he endeavored to shuffle along faster, desperate to keep the immense formation in sight. Sixteen meters from the gates – he almost sobbed with relief, but then a noise froze him in his tracks.

Ignoring the pain of the movement he whipped his head left and right. Though distorted by the wind, shouts and curses were unmistakably growing closer, louder. Unable to pinpoint if they were coming from the road or the wood, he panicked. Panting harshly, he implored his legs to move faster. Instead he fell, grunting furiously as his injured ankle gave out.

_No! Damn it! Why now? I'm almost there!_

Thunderous steps, accompanied by bone chilling growls, grew closer, crashing through the wood, heading towards him. Whatever it was, it was not human. A fleeting familiarity with the host of dubious creatures at the Dark Lord's disposal was enough to drive him to his feet, expressly ignoring his body's desire to remain crumpled on the ground.

His wand, mercifully ignored in his captors' eagerness to transport him to the forest, was out of reach, safely tucked away in his robes, but, he hadn't the energy to defend himself without it. His only objective now was to keep his body in motion; to reach the gates before that thing in the wood reached him.

Lurching forward, he maintained a steady stream of invectives directed at himself and anyone else having the misfortune to skip across his consciousness.

But, when a large shadow burst out of the trees, a strangled curse died in his throat. He had only time to squeeze his eyes shut as the thing leapt at him. Following a deafening roar and a blinding flash of light, darkness claimed him.

His last thought was that he had failed; he had failed to report to Dumbledore; he had failed to report that Potter and his family were in danger.

*WO


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: JK Rowling's characters.

_**This chapter contains excerpts from **_**Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire **_**and **_**Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix.**

**Albus Dumbledore's Office, Hogwarts, June 1996**

Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, sat unmoving behind his desk awaiting word from Severus Snape, Hogwarts' Potions Master and Head of Slytherin.

Barely a year had passed since Snape's reintroduction into Voldemort's circle. Having survived that year, it was clear that Snape was fully capable of taking care of himself, yet Dumbledore worried each time Snape was Summoned.

Voldemort's return was confirmed when the Dark Mark burned on Snape's arm following the third task of the Triwizard Tournament. Yet, regardless of how faithless Snape appeared to others, Dumbledore knew with all certainty that the man would respond readily when asked to return to his old master's service as a spy for the Order of the Phoenix.

'_Severus, you know what I must ask you to do. If you are ready… if you are prepared…'_

'_I am.' _

'_Then, good luck.'_

Snape's Death Eater status granted him essential and unparalleled access to Voldemort's circle, but Dumbledore was well aware that Snape had had to endure some extremely sadistic punishments in exchange for that access. Unsurprisingly, they intensified the more Voldemort was denied Harry Potter's demise.

It was for that reason, that for the first time in a long time, Dumbledore wasn't simply worried – he was frightened. The battle at the Ministry of Magic had taken place a week ago. Though Snape had had no part in it, he'd not been seen or heard from since.

Following Snape's reinstatement as a Death Eater, he and Dumbledore had devised several fail-safes for the job, one being that no extraordinary efforts would be used to locate Snape should contact ever be lost. Having already exhausted all of their established means of contact in case of emergency, Dumbledore was left with the chilling possibility that Snape was dead – he had never failed to make contact before, not for this stretch of time.

Absently, Dumbledore scratched his hand, then rose, stiff from sitting. Looking about, his eyes touched on a blank spot on his desk, previously occupied by some innocuous, yet rare trinket. His thoughts regressed to his conversation with Harry following the tragedy at the Ministry.

'_I DON'T CARE! I'VE HAD ENOUGH, I'VE SEEN ENOUGH, I WANT OUT, I WANT IT TO END, I DON'T CARE ANYMORE—' _

'_You do care. You care so much you feel as though you will bleed to death with the pain of it.'_

Following a sharp rap at the door, Minerva McGonagall, Hogwarts' Deputy Headmistress and Head of Gryffindor, swept into the office.

"Minerva," Dumbledore said, nodding genially.

"Good evening, Albus."

"Shouldn't you be in bed, resting?" Arching an eyebrow in mock admonishment, he assisted her into the lush sitting chair she instantly transfigured from a less comfortable one, then retook his own seat behind his desk.

McGonagall, still recovering from Ministry lackey Dolores Umbridge's savage attack a week ago, had been instructed by her attending healer at St. Mungo's to take it easy for at least a month following her release from the hospital.

"If I stay in bed any longer, I shall have to transfigure myself into a bed sheet," she replied, raising a hand at Dumbledore's proffered bowl of candies. "Besides, my only company these past few days has been Poppy, administering my potions," she said with an imperious sniff as she daintily smoothed her robes over her knees.

"Of course," Dumbledore chuckled. "I do apologize for being rather scarce, but as you know, Cornelius has been relieved of his post and the new Minister has requested several meetings."

"Why? Hasn't he enough to be getting on with without interfering at Hogwarts? Did he learn nothing from the cock up Fudge created?"

"It is not his intention to interfere at Hogwarts."

"Then, what?"

"Harry." Dumbledore rose, again, his expression troubled and angry.

"Harry? I don't understand…"

"Certain pressures come with inheriting a corrupt, blind, and rather ineffective government, Minerva."

"What has that to do with Harry?"

"Scrimgeour is rather desperate to distance his administration from Fudge's. He must essentially rebuild the Ministry from the ground up, but he has many to appease, and quickly. The rebuilding will happen over the long-term, but for the short-term… he and some other Ministry Heads have devised a plan to… revitalize the Ministry's image."

Behind her square spectacles, McGonagall's eyes narrowed in confusion, then widened, burning with outrage. "That's absurd! The audacity!" She paused, considering how most within the Ministry often conducted themselves. Disgusted, she asked, "Have they contacted him?"

"No, I will not allow it," Dumbledore said, his voice as chill as an arctic wind.

McGonagall wondered how he would continue to deny the new minister an audience with Harry, then decided not to trouble herself about it. Dumbledore had trifled with far more troublesome wizards than a newly installed Minister of Magic, and as important as he was, Harry was not the Order's only concern.

"Have you any word from Severus?" she asked as Dumbledore resumed his seat. "What of You-Know-Who? Has he learned anything? It's been days since the battle at the Ministry..."

Clearing his throat, Dumbledore said, "There is no need to trouble yourself, Minerva. Severus will contact me as soon –"

On cue, a snowy white owl glided in through an open window.

"That's Potter's owl!" McGonagall exclaimed. Instantly, she was on the edge of her seat, sharp eyes on Dumbledore as he swiftly captured the note Hedwig dropped midflight taking scant seconds to read its contents.

"Albus, what is it?" McGonagall asked alarmed at how quickly he had paled. "Has something happened to Potter?"

Dumbledore began waving his wand in an intricate pattern, simultaneously chanting arcane words that were nonsensical to the Transfigurations professor.

"Albus?" McGonagall said when he fell silent, his wand still held gracefully aloft.

"One moment, Minerva," he muttered forcefully. Then, his wand's tip glowed a brilliant pulsing green, but its vibrancy faded quickly, becoming duller as seconds passed.

Turning to the unique bird of red and gold perched nearby, Dumbledore commanded, "Fawkes, Cunnan!" In an instant, the phoenix was gone. Seconds later, a red feather flashed into existence before the old wizard's face.

"The gates… He's at the gates…" Dumbledore mumbled, dashing from behind his desk to throw open the door.

McGonagall had never seen the man so out of sorts, so fearful. "Headmaster? Albus – please!"

He stopped to look back. Confusion and fear strained her features, mirroring his own, he knew.

"Severus!"

He then descended the stairs at a speed that would have shamed many of the students. McGonagall snapped into motion following as quickly as she could.

*WO

Emerging from the castle, their attention was drawn to the wildly flashing lights just beyond the school's entrance. A deafening roar erupted as a great, boulder-sized head became visible along with the giant's massive flailing arms, towering high above the wrought iron gates. A dark shape – with a face far too pale to be anything but a mask – went flying into the trees, sparks shooting from what had to be a wand. McGonagall winced as a loud thud cut short the screaming.

Though still a good distance from them, Dumbledore wasted no time in releasing the gates' protective spells. As McGonagall drew closer, she too drew her wand. She was nearly at the gates when Dumbledore reentered the grounds trailed by Hagrid, Fang, and Grawp.

Hagrid was cradling something, someone – Snape. Running up to them she instinctively gagged at the sight and acrid reek of blood, burned flesh, and bodily waste. Choking back a sob, she covered her nose and mouth, wondering how Hagrid bore the stench. Then she saw that he was silently sobbing, mucus and tears mingling to block his nasal passages. Hastily, she dispatched her Patronus to inform Madam Pomfrey of their arrival.

Trotting alongside the half-giant, she looked back to see Dumbledore making quick work of spelling the gates. When Snape moaned softly, she said, "Almost there, Severus," as soothingly as she could manage while running.

"Dum-ble-dore," he rasped. Despite the needle-sharp pains in his chest, he raised his head, trying to distinguish her amidst the darkness.

"Quiet now," she chided in a tone not unlike the one she used when speaking to students. "Wait!"

"No!" His black eyes were wracked with pain, but his tone was fierce.

"Severus, we are at the steps of the castle, please…" she panted. "You can speak to Dumbledore inside!" Glancing back again, she saw Dumbledore racing in their direction.

Snape exhaled what would have been an irritated sigh, but turned into a harsh, watery sounding cough. Once the fit was over, McGonagall pursed her lips with relief when Hagrid confirmed that Snape was still breathing.

In the Entrance Hall, the soft light emitting from the torches outlined the horrifying extent of Snape's external damage: His robes were singed, frayed open, exposing a formerly white shirt, now stained impossibly with blood and muck; more alarming were his hands, mutilated beyond all comprehension.

After nearly unhinging the hospital wing's swinging doors as he burst through them, Hagrid gently settled Snape onto a bed. Madam Pomfrey quickly shooed the half-giant out of the way and busied herself cleaning Snape up to better assess his injuries. She made no inquiries regarding their source. Dumbledore stood quietly out of her way, remaining close lest Snape wake up.

"Albus, he asked for you," McGonagall puffed, perched on the edge of a nearby bed.

The headmaster turned his intense, worried gaze onto the school nurse. "Poppy, I must speak with him. Anything you can do… The _Cruciatus Curse_ was used – four wands, simultaneously." His tone was steely at the last.

"Oh, Severus…" McGonagall choked as Hagrid's pain-filled bellow rattled the ward's windows. Madam Pomfrey looked as scandalized as they sounded, but she gave Dumbledore a grim, determined nod and went back to work.

Then a muted red light erupted at Dumbledore's chest, beneath his robes. When it faded to black, he placed a hand over it and closed his eyes. In a burst of flame, Fawkes appeared. "MARK 12," he rapped and the phoenix flashed out of existence. A ragged sigh was Dumbledore's only reaction to the odd occurrence.

"Albus?" McGonagall said. Madam Pomfrey looked up, curious.

"Please, Poppy, continue," Dumbledore said. He glanced at McGonagall, communicating that he would fill her in later. She gave a reluctant nod, observing that he now looked even more troubled than he had after reading Harry's note.

The silent vigil carried on as Madam Pomfrey ran her wand the length of Snape's body, conducting a diagnostic scan. She then set to work on his hands, rinsing them of debris, and applying burn healing paste to the raw, weeping skin before bandaging them. His left forearm was flayed open, the tendons grotesquely exposed. Enraptured, Dumbledore stared at the destroyed flesh, reflecting on its possible significance beyond the wound.

"He's a right mess! I've never seen him this – How he surv –" Madam Pomfrey paused to take a breath.

Throughout the litany of injuries, her tone became more and more exasperated. She knew what Snape did for the Headmaster; she did not approve.

"And, his dear hands!" She angrily batted a stray tear off her cheek. "If he regains full use of them, it will be a miracle..."

Dumbledore hissed at her last words. For a Potions Master, manual dexterity was crucial – for Severus Snape, though, more than his livelihood was at risk. His formidable skills imparted an absolute air to his personality in his roles as a professor, as a spy and, more significantly, as a man.

"I think the object used to stab him in his back was likely poisoned and is undoubtedly contributing to his difficulty breathing. The fire, it seems to have done away with the Mark... and good riddance! But, there's something wrong, internally, beyond a punctured lung, I think... He should be in St. Mungo's," Pomfrey concluded, shaking her head, eyes clinically sweeping the length of Snape's body is search of something she may have missed.

"No. He must stay here," Dumbledore said firmly. Pomfrey stared at him, flabbergasted. "You have treated him before when he has returned in less than… healthy condition."

"Yes," she said, nostrils flaring, "but _this_ is beyond me Headmaster! There's something _off_ about these injuries, the magic used… You saw! I couldn't even apply paste to his bruises – and his lungs!" she exclaimed. "It's unconscionab –"

"If his condition is beyond you, Poppy, then so be it, but he _cannot_ leave the castle," Dumbledore said with a tone finality.

Though the school nurse's blustering indignation underscored the gravity of Snape's injuries, discretion would be problematic at an institution like St. Mungo's; at Hogwarts, Snape would come to no further harm. Dumbledore glanced up and saw in McGonagall's expression that while she did not agree with his decision, she understood it.

*WO

**Harry Potter's Bedroom, Surrey, June 1996**

More than an hour had passed since Harry had sent Hedwig to Hogwarts and he was still waiting to hear from Dumbledore. He paced, needing something to occupy his mind outside of the recurring images of Snape being tortured; they resurrected less than pleasant memories of the night Voldemort regained his body.

'_Kill the spare.' _

Cedric's death had been quick, but Voldemort had relished toying with his enemy, Harry. It was only after much speechifying and wickedly ironic etiquette lessons in dueling, that Voldemort did finally attempt to kill him. Thus, Harry had no doubt that had Snape not escaped, Voldemort would have killed him, too. But why had Snape been punished so severely in the first place? And why would Voldemort send the vision to _him_?

Harry plodded back and forth stewing over questions he had no answers to, and no tangible way to get them. His owl was gone; he couldn't perform magic lest he be hauled before the Wizengamot, where he would – without ceremony – be stripped of his wand, leaving him defenseless; and he couldn't phone anyone.

Since his return from school, the Dursleys made certain Harry had no unsupervised access to a telephone. They even went so far as to unplug each one in the house to take them with them whenever they went out. Uncle Vernon insisted it was a 'matter of safety.' Having made the decision last summer after 'Voldy-thing' came back, he made it clear that he wouldn't have his family tracked down because of one careless phone call to or from any of those 'unnatural freaks' Harry hung round with.

Frustrated, Harry growled, and ran his fingers through his hair. The clock now read _10:05. _He stopped midstride, cocking his head. He took a moment to focus on the silence of the house, then looked at the clock again. _10:07._

The Dursleys.._._ _Where are they?_ _They should have been back by now_. _They_—

A muted noise came from downstairs. Harry frowned. A car had not pulled into the driveway nor had the front door been opened with its usual slam announcing his uncle's arrival, so what — There it was again!

It might be Dumbledore or someone from the Order sent to fetch him as they had after the Dementors' attack last summer—or it might not. On edge after the vision he had just witnessed, Harry grabbed his wand off the side table, and cautiously made his way to the door. With his ear against it, and his wand at the ready, he put his hand on the doorknob. He listened, focused on every sound. Well acquainted with every squeak, groan, and sigh of those stairs, he would know if someone was coming up.

At the first squeak, he gripped the doorknob, prepared to yank it open, start hurling hexes, no matter who was there. He clenched his jaw when he heard a groan – whoever was out there was now halfway up the stairs. Harry had just begun to turn the doorknob, when a loud _BANG_ echoed from downstairs. That sounded like one of Uncle Vernon's entrances, but they weren't usually accompanied by curses – well, not magical ones.

Harry's eyes grew wide at the sound of the voices shouting below: Mad-Eye, Mr. Weasley, Remus, and Kingsley!

They had come for him! A loud thud just outside his door caused him to jump back. Taking a defensive stance, he gripped his wand tightly out in front of him. Downstairs a voice yelled "_Stupefy!"_ and something hit the door, causing it to bow inward from the impact.

"Arthur, move!" yelled Remus. "_Stupefy! __Avada…_"

"Remus… NO!_ Stupefy!_"

"Damn!"

Another thud echoed from the other side of the wall, then, someone was thundering up the stairs. Still poised defensively, Harry never took his eyes off the door. Someone muttered, _"Incarcerous." _ Harry knew that voice.

"Harry?" said Mr. Weasley, panicked.

"In here!"

Mr. Weasley tried to turn the doorknob, but Harry had gripped it from his side at the same time, so they fought each other for a few seconds.

"Oh, bugger it," muttered Mr. Weasley. "Go on, Harry."

Harry pulled the door open and peered out at the wizards before him. Mr. Weasley looked pale and shaken while Remus, off to the side, looked worn and angry. A bound Death Eater lay on the floor between them.

"Harry," Remus said, "are you all right?" Remus' normally warm, amber eyes were bloodshot and empty.

"I'm okay. What happened? How'd he get in here?" Harry pointed at the body on the floor.

"The blood protections have fallen," said Mr. Weasley, growing even paler.

"_What?!_ How?"

"The Dursleys are dead," Remus said, his voice and expression flat.

"But… but… that's no—" Harry stuttered, horrified.

"We don't have time for this!" Mad-Eye growled from the stairs. "Fill him in once we're back at headquarters!"

"Head – I don't want to go back there!" said Harry.

"We have no choice, Harry. Moody's right, we must hurry before You-Know-Who sends reinforcements," Mr. Weasley said, fidgeting anxiously.

Harry shook his head, resolute. "I'm not going there." He fingered his wand, thinking he might hex anyone who tried to force him to go.

"Harry, be reasonable!" Remus said, suddenly impatient. Harry gave Remus a look that said_, 'You of all people should understand why I don't want to go there!'_

When Remus maintained his flat, irritated glare, Harry squared his shoulders and said, "No, anywhere –"

"Enough!" Moody roared. "We need to move, _now_!"

"Harry, gather your things… quickly now," said Mr. Weasley, smiling. That got him moving. Possibly meant to calm Harry, it only served to unnerve him, as it was horribly strained and lacked any of the man's natural warmth.

Since Harry hadn't bothered to unpack, even after a week, he had only to throw his book bag into his trunk, and grab his broom and Hedwig's cage – be it reluctantly. Mr. Weasley then shrunk the trunk and wordlessly took the broom and cage when Harry refused to let him shrink them.

Out in the hallway, Mr. Weasley said, "What'll we do with these?"

Harry looked down. There was a second Death Eater lying prone on the stairs. Though he didn't recognize either one, he felt a chill snake up his spine at the sight of their masks and robes and wondered if they had been among those present during Snape's torture. When he heard Moody's harsh reply, Harry then wondered if they would be in for the same treatment once Voldemort discovered they had failed at their task.

"Leave'em," Moody spat. "Let You-Know-Who sort'em out!"

Moody turned to stump down the stairs leaving Harry and the others to follow. In the kitchen, where Kingsley had obviously been standing guard, Harry could see through the back door that out in the garden there was yet another Death Eater stunned and trussed like the others.

"Harry," Kingsley said with a somber nod.

Harry nodded a greeting in return. The strained atmosphere gave him the odd feeling that more had occurred than he'd been witness to, but there was no time to dwell on it.

"I've sent word to Dumbledore," said Kingsley, directing his words to Mad-Eye.

"Fine," the old Auror growled. "Lupin, you and Arthur take the boy. We'll meet you back at headquarters." He finished sternly as if expecting Remus to protest.

Remus simply nodded, then to Harry, said, "Take my arm."

"Where—" Harry began.

"Harry!" Remus barked.

Remus looked so grim and was so uncharacteristically sharp, Harry didn't dare argue. He grasped Remus' arm and immediately felt himself being squeezed into a suffocating darkness. Moments later, he tumbled gracelessly onto a dirt road.

"What was that?" Harry gasped blinking hard to bring the world back into focus and to get adjusted to the oppressive dark. Looking about, he soon realized they were on the road leading to Hogwarts.

"Apparition," Remus said just as Mr. Weasley popped into existence farther up the road.

Fred and George Weasley had made an annoying habit of popping in and out of the rooms at Grimmauld Place last summer after earning their Apparition license. Now that he had experienced it, Harry didn't understand why they hadn't just walked. Shaking off the residual disorientation, he hurried alongside Remus to join Mr. Weasley. With wands out, they all set off at a brisk pace for Hogwarts.

*WO

**Hogwarts, June 1996 **

Entering the castle's Entrance Hall, Remus instructed Harry to Gryffindor Tower, telling him he would see him after he'd spoken with Dumbledore.

"But, I wanted a word with him, too," Harry said, frowning.

"Harry, I need to discuss some things with him priv –"

"Good evening Remus, Arthur, Harry," came Dumbledore's voice from behind them. They all turned to see the white-haired wizard striding swiftly toward them.

"Headmaster," Remus said.

"Albus," said Mr. Weasley.

"Professor," Harry mumbled, not quite able to meet the man's eyes now they were face to face. He was curious how his note had been received, but was also feeling embarrassed because of his behavior in Dumbledore's office scarcely more than a week ago.

Dumbledore appraised him knowingly. "Remus, Arthur, if you would proceed to my office, I will meet with you both shortly. There is something I must first discuss with Harry."

Harry looked up, surprised. Remus started to say something, but after noting the look on Dumbledore's face, he simply nodded and cast them a curious glance before following Mr. Weasley.

"Harry, this way, please." Dumbledore turned back in the direction from which he had come. Harry hurried to follow.

For several moments they walked in – for Harry – a tense silence. Finally he blurted, "Professor, did you get my note?"

"I did, Harry, thank you."

"Well... was Snape being tortured like I saw?" Harry pressed, fairly running to keep up with Dumbledore's long stride.

"He was."

"Why would –" Dumbledore cut him off by raising his hand.

"In a moment, Harry. First I want to warn you that what you are about to see will not be pleasant."

They were at the entrance to the hospital wing. Following Dumbledore inside, Harry's eyes were immediately drawn to the only occupied bed in the ward. White, gauzy curtains were drawn up on the left, but the right side was open, exposing Snape. He looked, to Harry, as though he had just suffered through several rounds in a Muggle boxing ring with Grawp.

"Will he be okay?" Harry asked, unable to stifle a wince at the devastating condition of Snape's hands.

"That remains to be seen. As soon as your note was delivered, I called upon Fawkes to locate him, but Hagrid found him first. As luck would have it, he and Grawp were out hunting at the time. Fang picked up Severus' scent and tracked him to the road. They reached him just as he was nearing the gates, just as Death Eaters were firing curses at him from the other side of the forest."

"All _this_ happened on the road?" Harry pointed to Snape. "So what I saw was wrong, then!"

"I have my suspicions, but I do not believe so. In all probability, Voldemort dispatched them once Severus escaped."

"Has he said anything?"

"He was unconscious when we found him. Professor McGonagall said that he was able to communicate a few words as Hagrid brought him up to the castle, but nothing beyond that."

"What did he say?"

"He… asked for me."

"What d' you think he wanted to tell you?" Harry ventured, surprised at Dumbledore's openness, yet eager to glean as much information as he could.

"That you and your family were in danger," Dumbledore said, piercing Harry with a look.

Shock and doubt ruled Harry's features as he reeled at this information. "Why would he do that?"

"Harry, you are well aware of Professor Snape's duty as a member of the Order to spy on Voldemort."

Harry scowled, flatly refusing to believe Snape had had anything to do with the Dursley's deaths or with what had happened at the Ministry – beyond perhaps giving Voldemort pointers on planning them.

He vividly recalled how Snape had coldly ignored his coded plea in Umbridge's office: '_Potter, when I want nonsense shouted at me I shall give you a Babbling Beverage.._.' It didn't make sense that he would now try to save Harry and the Dursleys, not when he had been so quick to dismiss Harry's appeal for help barely more than a week ago!

"How do you know it wasn't_ his_ idea for Voldemort to go after the Dursleys and me in the first place?!"

"Harry, I trust Severus Snape. Do not think to disparage him to me beyond this conversation."

Dumbledore's tone wasn't cold, but Harry felt chilled nonetheless. He swallowed and said, "Yes, sir."

When Dumbledore remained silent, Harry volunteered, "Death Eaters got inside the house." He turned his eyes to Snape, suddenly captivated by the purplish bruise on the man's swollen forehead.

"Three of them; one was right outside my bedroom door when Remus and the others got there. I'd been waiting to hear from you. It was past ten when I realized the Dursleys hadn't made it back from dinner yet. They should have been back at 9:30 or so..." Harry said. He turned back to Dumbledore. "What happened to them?"

"There was a one-car accident eight kilometers from the Dursley's house."

"It was just a car accident?" Harry felt oddly relieved. "So, it might not've been Voldemort at all!" he said, forgetting his previous damning accusation of Snape.

"It was no common car accident, Harry," Dumbledore said softly. "Muggle witnesses reported seeing the car floating above the roadway, being bounced about until it finally crashed to the ground, mangling the car and its occupants."

Harry felt instantly deflated and nauseous. The act reminded him spine-tinglingly of what had been done to Snape. With their blinding disdain of all things magical, Harry could imagine how terrified the Dursleys must have been, probably cursing his name all the while.

"Why now?" he whispered.

"Tom would have been frustrated by the outcome at the Ministry, missing his one chance to hear the prophecy," Dumbledore said, his eyes never leaving Snape's face. "He is not avowed for his patience or for blithely accepting defeat. Nor is he obliging of incompetence or disloyalty amongst his followers."

"That I'm well aware of," Harry muttered, recalling the failures of Quirrell, Wormtail, and he hoped, Bellatrix Lestrange. Quirrell had paid the ultimate price with his life, while Wormtail had merely been divested of his hand. Harry could only hope the results of Bellatrix's failure at the Ministry had been as lethal as Quirrell's.

"Of course, access to you was his primary goal," Dumbledore continued. "But, I am afraid your relatives' deaths were an unfortunate consequence to that end. I am quite certain he was unaware of the particulars of the blood magic surrounding you all, but, Tom's cruelty knows no bounds."

Harry grimaced, angry. He had come so close, once again, to being killed, and Snape… Though Harry found the Headmaster's certainty that Snape was on their side, disarming, he couldn't avoid the obvious: the man had been tortured, and there had to be a reason.

'_Disregard of loyalty amongst my followers is intolerable.'_

"How did Remus find out so fast?" Harry asked, not wanting to brood over Snape's condition or how it came about.

"If the blood protections fell, instant notification was crucial. Thus, the magic contained within them was connected to this." Dumbledore pulled a silver chain from beneath his robes. Hanging from the chain was a shiny silver Sickle sized medallion emblazoned with a runic symbol_. _"It was charmed to glow brightly if the protections were breached. When it did, I alerted the Order."

"What's that symbol?" Harry asked, mesmerized. He found it beautiful, and strangely familiar.

"That is the runic symbol for the first letter of your mother's name."

"Th-that was my mum's?" Harry stammered, awestruck.

"Yes, Harry," saidDumbledore, smiling, for the first time that evening. "It is yours to keep now, if you wish. I have no further need of it." He looped the chain from around his neck, and placed it in Harry's outstretched hand.

"Thank you, sir," Harry whispered reverently.

Because his emotions were always so irritatingly close to the surface these days, his voice became gruff at seeing this small object that had belonged to his mother. He had his father's cloak, but he'd had nothing of Lily's – until now. Slowly, he ran a finger over the symbol, feeling the raised ridges of the piece, trying not to shed the tears welling in his eyes. He quickly swiped his hand beneath his glasses to clear his vision.

"You are very welcome. Now, Harry, I must go meet with Arthur and Remus –"

"But – sir, what about the Dursleys, what'll happen to them?"

That he was likely to never return to Privet Drive finally struck him. Would there be a service? He hadn't liked his relatives, but they had died because of their connection to him, thus, he owed them something.

This last thought caused Harry's stomach to churn. How many? How many more people who stood between him and Voldemort would die? He clutched his mother's medallion tightly in his fist, squeezing his eyes shut.

"I owe them," he whispered, speaking his thought out loud.

"Ah, Harry," said Dumbledore, softly touching a hand to his shoulder. "Once I have met with Remus and Arthur, we shall discuss it, yes?"

Harry nodded, his constricted throat making it impossible to speak just then.

"Until then –" Dumbledore cleared his throat, "– would you mind sitting with Professor Snape?"

Harry's eyes flew open and Dumbledore raised a beseeching hand.

"Madam Pomfrey is currently occupied with Professor McGonagall, else I would not ask," Dumbledore said. "She shall be returning momentarily." His eyes were expectant.

Harry cast a suspicious glance at Snape, lying so quietly, Harry wondered if he was not already dead. If he were though, that would be one more to count among the rapidly growing list of the dead linked to Harry.

"I'll stay," he said, resigned.

"Thank you, Harry. I shall come fetch you once my meeting has concluded."

*WO

**Hospital Wing, Hogwarts, June 1996**

Harry prayed Dumbledore wouldn't be gone long. The cavernous ward had grown creepy, empty of all sound save Harry's own nervous breathing, highlighted by Snape's deathly silence. He watched Snape, staring hard until he perceived the man's chest rise and fall.

As his eyes roamed Snape's battered body, Harry quickly realized he had never given much thought to what being a servant of Voldemort entailed. He pondered the appeal of following a nutter if it meant being tortured for said nutter's malicious pleasure for no other reason than it pleased that nutter.

_But, Snape had found it appealing._ Harry shuddered.

This thought, coupled with five years of mutual, burning hatred made it easy for Harry to dismiss Dumbledore's claims of Snape's loyalty. For Harry, Snape had yet to do anything to disprove just how well-suited his personality was to being a Death Eater. Every Death Eater Harry had ever encountered had been atrociously heartless, selfish, and mindless.

Lucius Malfoy certainly met each qualification with ease: his treatment of 'inferiors' was reprehensible; he had smugly watched one of his 'brethren' tortured and nearly murdered; and he had, without conscience, given an eleven year-old girl a book rife with soul-corrupting Dark Magic. Yes, Harry believed that most likely all who had been present in that forest fulfilled every single one of those qualities, and more.

But, Harry determined that while Snape could be easily considered heartless and selfish, mindless was not a label so easily affixed to the man. Snape had to have acted outside the realm of Voldemort's demands to warrant nearly being killed.

_But, why? _

The question forced Harry to contemplate the meaning behind Dumbledore's words to Snape the night of Voldemort's return: _'You know what I must ask you to do. If you are ready… if you are prepared…'_

Had Snape really been prepared to experience something as heinous as this? Had he been prepared to give his _life_?

Voldemort was a vindictive equal opportunist when meting out punishment, making no marked distinctions between innocents, enemies, or followers. Thus, Harry's skin crawled at the thought of what other punishments Snape might have endured over the past year. Harry knew Snape possessed a mental fortitude that allowed him to be both duplicitous and cold, but no one, not even Snape, should have had to endure the physical cost.

Squinting curiously at the weakened man, Harry found it quite easy to empathize with his condition, but, his unfair treatment of Harry and his housemates in Potions class, his sneering joy at taking points unnecessarily outside of it, not to mention the snarling, biting exchanges between Snape and Sirius at Grimmauld Place went a long way toward curbing his innate desire to pity the _man_.

Just as Harry was envisioning Snape bullying some wayward student – Snape moaned. Shocked, Harry instinctively raised his wand, nearly hexing the man. Then Snape began to mutter unintelligibly.

Harry whipped around, wishing someone, anyone else, was in the ward with him. When Snape continued muttering, Harry cautiously lowered his wand and ventured forward toward the bed. Snape's eyes sprang open, moving frantically back and forth, giving him an utterly wild appearance.

Harry inched closer. "Professor?"

Snape's eyes lighted upon him, but Harry felt as lucent as glass as Snape seemed to be gazing through him to some point beyond him.

"Dum… bledore," Snape wheezed, before his thin frame was wracked with a vicious cough.

Harry winced at the sound and was alarmed at the sight of blood glistening on Snape's thin lips.

"I-I'll go get him!" Harry turned, poised to run, but stopped when he felt something damp against his arm. He looked down to see Snape's hand flop listlessly back onto the bed.

"Potter… okay?"

Well accustomed to those fierce black eyes regarding him with nothing but deepest loathing, Harry was taken aback to now see them filled with a deep anxiety and fear.

Harry blinked, staggered. "Yes, sir," he said, overwhelmed with the need to be respectful. "I'm fine_._ I-I'll just go get Dumbledore."

Unsteadily, Snape raised his head off the pillow, trying to see Harry better. Though there had never been a time that Harry _wanted_ to maintain eye contact with Snape, he didn't dare look away for fear of further distressing the man. After a long moment, Snape's head flopped back onto the pillow and his eyes fluttered closed. Sighing harshly, he relaxed to the point that he appeared _too_ relaxed.

Unnerved, Harry leaned over, eyeing Snape's chest. "Professor?" When there was no movement, he placed a trembling hand on it. Harry closed his eyes, willing it to rise, but nothing happened.

He was readying himself to shake the man by the shoulders when Snape suddenly inhaled; it sounded like someone trying to dislodge a boot from a muddy ditch, but it was a breath. Relieved, Harry counted ten up and down movements of Snape's chest before deciding it was safe to go get Dumbledore.

Streaking out of the hospital ward, he ran flat out up to the stone gargoyle guarding the entrance to Dumbledore's office. Having no clue what the password was, he used the tried and trusted 'lemon drops' and was rewarded with the gargoyle jumping aside. He dashed up the moving staircase and burst into the office without knocking.

"Sir!" Harry gasped, clutching his sides. "It's Snape! He… he woke up... asked for you. His mouth… H-he's _bleeding_..."

Dumbledore made it to the fireplace in two long strides. He tossed in a handful of Floo powder and shouted, "Poppy!"

Her curious face appeared in the flames seconds later. "Headmaster?"

"It's Severus," he said and she was gone in an instant.

"Come, Harry." Dumbledore gestured toward the fireplace. Harry raced to join him as Dumbledore hurled down more Floo powder. Momentarily, they arrived in the hospital wing.

"Did he say anything else?" Dumbledore asked as they emerged from the ward's fireplace.

"He asked… if I was okay."

"Indeed," Dumbledore whispered.

"Will _he _be okay?"

"He has suffered terribly, Harry."

Harry cast Dumbledore an uneasy glance before turning to watch Madam Pomfrey work for the next few minutes.

"Where are Remus and Mr. Weasley?" Harry asked, suddenly recalling that neither had been in Dumbledore's office.

"I sent Arthur to headquarters so he could inform the rest of the Order about what has transpired, and Remus had an important meeting to attend."

"At this hour?" Harry had been troubled by Remus's demeanor while at Privet Drive. He would like to have seen his old professor before he left.

"Yes, Harry. It is very important."

Both Harry and Dumbledore fell silent when Madam Pomfrey fired off a sharp look.

Snape groaned, but did not wake when she applied pressure to his chest with her knuckles. In the short time Harry was gone, Snape's skin had taken on a dull, waxy sheen and his cheeks seemed more hollowed out than normal, emphasizing the devastating angles of his cheekbones. Had a marble likeness been placed next to the man, Harry would have been hard pressed to determine which figure was rendered from stone.

"He wasn't responding a moment ago," Pomfrey informed them. "Headmaster, he _must_ go to St. Mungo's. His lungs sound much worse!"

"We have discussed this... We cannot risk it, Poppy."

"Then a qualified Healer must come here!" she snapped, frustrated with Dumbledore's inaction. "There's naught more I can do for him! If he's left as he is… he will die!"

Dumbledore appeared stricken by Pomfrey's grim pronouncement. Harry turned to look at him, wondering why the old wizard was hesitating. He wouldn't leave Snape to die, would he? Looking at him more closely, Harry saw an emotion there he had never witnessed – fear.

What was he afraid of? Voldemort had to know by now that Harry was safely away from Privet Drive. What more was there to know? What could –?

_Snape._ He had escaped.

Harry knew Voldemort would never allow a follower, one who had managed to outwit and defy him, to go free after the fact. With a certainty born of experience, Harry also knew Voldemort would not only want Snape dead, but would do everything in his power to make it happen. Snape couldn't go to St. Mungo's. It would mean certain death as Voldemort had eyes everywhere. Yet, he couldn't remain at Hogwarts either, simply left to die without proper care.

"We have to do something, Professor," Harry said, turning his eyes back to Snape. _Another life as payment for the price of my safety_ was the thought running through his head.

Dumbledore regarded the young wizard, a shameful resignation shadowing his features. "Yes, Harry, you are right." Dumbledore strode to the fireplace, disappearing in a puff of green smoke after stating, "St. Mungo's."

*WO

**Hospital Wing, Hogwarts, June 1996**

Nearly an hour later, Harry sat in a wooden, straight-backed chair beside Snape's bed, peering at Madam Pomfrey as she fussed about, checking Snape's vital signs every ten minutes, noting every change on a sheet of floating parchment. His bum had become numb, but he was too exhausted to notice. After a while his head began to nod forward onto his chest, only to jerk up once he realized he had been dozing.

Wanting to be awake when Dumbledore returned, he sat up, stretched his arms above his head, and yawned. As he scooted around trying to get blood flowing to his behind, he glanced up to find glittering, black eyes inspecting him.

"You make… more noise… than," Snape paused to take a fluid-filled breath, "a Fwooper… without the… s-silencing c-charm, Potter."

Startled, Harry jumped up, shoving his chair backwards, inadvertently scraping it across the stone floor in the process. He and Snape winced at the piercing, teeth-gnashing sound.

"Sorry," Harry groaned. "Should I go get Madam Pomfrey? She's just in her office."

"No," Snape whispered hoarsely. "Dum – dore?"

"He's at St. Mungo's. He should be back soon."

Snape nodded wearily, and closed his eyes, extinguishing their dark light. Harry knew the less he engaged Snape the better it would be for the man, but combined feelings of fatigue, impatience, and anxiety drove him to begin babbling.

"D'you want some water, an extra pillow, or… a-another blanket?"

Startling blackness once more as Snape's eyes snapped open. With a preciseness belying his condition, he fired off an extremely familiar glare, then closed his eyes, again. Harry stepped back feeling thoroughly chastised, yet oddly relieved. He lifted his chair, quietly set it close to Snape's bed, and sat down.

As a means of staying awake, Harry tried counting how many times Snape's narrow chest rose and fell. Less than a minute later, he was asleep, slumped pretzel-like in the chair with his head resting awkwardly on his arm. It was in this less than comfortable position that Dumbledore found him half an hour later.

Roused by the soft murmuring of voices, Harry opened his eyes. Dumbledore, Pomfrey, and a strange man wearing blood red robes were clustered together near the foot of Snape's bed.

"Ah, Harry," said Dumbledore. "Perhaps you would be more comfortable in the Tower, in your own bed?"

"No, sir, I'm fine," Harry lied. His glasses were askew, his neck had a crick in it, and the leg he had tucked underneath him was bloodless and stiff. "He asked for you again."

"Did he?" Dumbledore reached out to gently touch Snape's covered foot.

"I told him you'd gone to St. Mungo's and he fell back asleep."

"Yes, well, I dare say, you should do the same. You have had a rather eventful night. Come, I shall escort you…"

"No." Harry straightened his glasses. "Sir, I wanna stay... see how he's doing."

"Harry, Healer Brady will need some time to assess Professor Snape's condition and he cannot do that with an audience."

Harry turned his attention to the stranger, thinking he looked much too young to be a healer, let alone a specialist.

"Hi, Harry. I'm Galen Brady." He smiled easily, extending his hand.

Harry forced himself out of his chair. It felt as though his leg was being pricked by a thousand needles as blood rushed back into it. Grimacing, Harry managed to shake the man's hand.

"Harry Potter. Pleasetamee'choo."

"Do excuse me," Dumbledore muttered, waving his hand distractedly. "My manners leave much to be desired this morning, I think."

"It's not a problem Headmaster, but I will need to begin examining my patient."

Harry watched interestedly as Brady set his healer's bag at the foot of Snape's bed. He pulled out his wand, bottles, and other instruments which were completely foreign to Harry.

"You may return later once you have rested," Dumbledore said, gaining Harry's attention.

Protest was futile as Dumbledore had firmly grasped Harry's elbow and was directing him toward the exit. Before entering the corridor, Harry turned to catch one last glimpse of Snape's dark head.

"Sir, how do you know that Brady's… reliable?" Harry asked as they walked. Dumbledore surprised him by chuckling.

"Do I detect a note of concern for Professor Snape?" Harry scowled at the inference, but said nothing. Dumbledore's lip twitched lightly as he said, "Healer Brady comes highly recommended by a very close acquaintance, Harry."

"Oh," Harry muttered, inexplicably comforted. Once they reached the Fat Lady's portrait, Dumbledore uttered the password.

Harry suddenly asked, "Sir, what's a Fooper?"

Dumbledore looked at him, puzzled. "Fooper?" he repeated. "Do you mean Fwooper?" Harry shrugged. "A Fwooper is an African bird whose song will drive the listener insane, so each bird must be sold with a Silencing Charm on it."

"A right nuisance, they are!" trilled the Fat Lady. Harry frowned at the chorus of agreement from many of the surrounding paintings.

"Professor Snape said that I was as noisy as one when I was trying to get comfortable in that ridiculous hospital chair!"

Dumbledore laughed merrily at Harry's words, blue eyes twinkling for the first time that night. "I am glad he felt well enough to say as much to you."

Harry shook his head as if to clear his mind of the exhaustion and insane strangeness of the past several hours. The desire to do nothing more than sleep for a week suddenly trumped the fear of nightmares peppered with images of Sirius.

Before stepping through the portrait hole, Harry remembered. "Professor? The Dursleys?"

"Ah, yes. Your uncle's sister has seen to the arrangements. A service will be held Tuesday at 10 a.m."

Already sure of the answer, but needing to ask regardless, Harry said, "I don't s'pose I could go… could I?"

"I do not think it wise, Harry."

Of course. Going to the service would make Harry far too easy a target for Voldemort. And, he could only imagine Aunt Marge's wrath, lambasting him for being the only member of the household left alive. Though she knew nothing of his magical abilities and believed him a common teenage criminal, she would find some way of blaming him for her brother's strange death and Harry would feel helpless to defend himself because he would know the accusation to be too true.

He sighed heavily. "All right."

"Good night, Harry."

"Night, sir."

*WO


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: JK Rowling's characters.

**Gryffindor Tower, Hogwarts, June 1996 **

When Harry woke, the sun was shining brightly into the sixth-year boys' dorm, flooding it with warmth. Groaning, he stretched, his joints popping musically. After putting on his glasses, he took in the room thinking how out of balance it felt being the only one there. The other four beds, with their hangings pinned open to expose the mattresses stripped of their coverings, looked horribly forlorn.

No alarm was necessary when his dorm mates were in residence. His wake up call was usually the cacophony of 'The Seamus and Dean Show.' Neville, on his stomach, grinning lazily, hair askew, eyes puffy from sleep, would watch the two boys reenact the numerous football games they had attended together over the summer. Ron, unsurprisingly, slept through it all, snoring so hard, Harry found it miraculous the boy didn't inhale his bed curtains.

Upon entering his room in the wee hours of the morning, Harry had gone straight to his four-poster, scarcely registering the fact that it was made up and that his trunk was in its usual spot at the foot of it. He had simply collapsed on top of the covers, already halfway asleep as he pulled his glasses off.

Once on his stomach, the unyielding hardness of his mother's medallion jabbed his right hip. He fished it out and gazed at it for a drowsy moment before wrapping his fingers around it and tucking his hand under his chest. He had then fallen into a dreamless sleep.

Sitting up, Harry idly ran his fingers through his hair, trying to gather his thoughts by piecing together last night's queer events. A shower would help with that, among other things. Looking himself over, he only now noticed how intensely grimy he was from his spill on the road. He frowned confusedly at the dark, rust colored stain on his arm. He considered it a moment before remembering.

_Blood._ _Snape's blood._

Harry shuddered, wondering why he hadn't noticed it last night. Tearing his eyes from it, he stood, narrowly missing cracking his knee against a rocking chair placed next to his bed. Draped over an arm of the chair was a copy of _The Daily Prophet._ He glanced at the headline, but was distracted by the date: Thursday, 13 June 1996.

_Impossible. _He frowned, mentally ticking off the days and dates. _It had been Saturday, the 8__th__ when_…

He looked at the watch dangling loosely at his wrist – a cast-off of Dudley's – and saw that it was 11:15 a.m.

_Okay, but it can't be the 13__th__…_

He showered hurriedly, then pulled on some wrinkled clothes scavenged from the bottom of his trunk before making his way to Dumbledore's office.

"Lemon drops." He spoke hesitantly, thinking it doubtful that he would again be granted entrance. But, as before, the gargoyle jumped aside.

Stepping off the moving staircase, Harry knocked on the door. When there was no immediate answer, he waited a moment then pressed his ear to the door. Hearing nothing, he turned and went back down the staircase. Out in the hallway, he'd almost cleared the gargoyle when he heard, "Harry! You're awake."

Harry spun around to see Dumbledore striding toward him. "Yeah... Um, I was just up to your office."

"I was in the hospital wing sitting with Severus."

"Oh. How is he?"

Dumbledore sighed. "He has fallen into a deep sleep. He may just as well have ingested the Draught of Living Death."

Harry frowned. "But, he was awake last night… He spoke to me!"

Dumbledore looked at Harry strangely and said, "Harry, his condition continues to be rather grave. Healer Brady and Madam Pomfrey believe this sleep might be best as it will give his body an opportunity to heal at its own pace."

"Well, when will he wake up?"

"Soon, I hope," Dumbledore said, briefly touching Harry's shoulder. Harry frowned at the touch. He was concerned, but he wasn't _concerned. _

"Mr. Potter!" Harry turned. Madam Pomfrey was puffing her way up the hallway. "I left for only a moment and you'd disappeared!"

"Disappeared?"

"Ah," said Dumbledore.

"Headmaster," she said, "I would've informed you Potter had awoken, but when I returned from – well, he wasn't there when I returned!"

"I didn't even know anyone was – There was a rocking chair with the _Prophet_ on…" Harry rounded on Dumbledore. "Today's date, it's not the 13th of June… is it?"

"We might be more comfortable discussing this in my office, Harry." Dumbledore dismissed the school nurse with a nod, and directed Harry back toward the gargoyle.

*WO

Harry sat tensely in a chair opposite Dumbledore's desk.

"Are you in any pain, Harry?"

Not expecting that question, Harry blankly shook his head. Dumbledore nodded approvingly. _Knowingly,_ Harry surmised, and narrowed his eyes.

"Harry, it was very early Sunday morning when I left you at the Tower. You arrived Saturday night after being rescued by members of the Order as Death Eaters had invaded the Dursley's home after murdering them on the roadway. You also witnessed Professor Snape's torture in a vision."

Harry frowned, fidgeting impatiently. He knew all this, and wondered why Dumbledore felt the need to rehash it all.

"Well, it was of little consequence when you were not seen the next day, as we all expected you to be terribly exhausted. But, when no one reported seeing you on Tuesday, I asked Madam Pomfrey to check on you and she found you asleep," Dumbledore said. "She tried waking you. When you did not, she examined you and determined that, though you were simply sleeping, it was an intensely deep sleep, 'a healing sleep' she said."

Harry was confused. "'A healing sleep?' Like Snape?"

"Similar, but as you had not sustained any visible injuries there was no other logical reason for you to have slept so deeply. That is why I asked if you were in any pain."

Inexplicably, Harry suspected Dumbledore was either being less than truthful or very particular regarding his words. "I wasn't hurt at all during the rescue. I'm fine."

"Yes," Dumbledore nodded. "And, that is all for the better, of course. Having both you and Severus as patients in the hospital wing –"

"I'm _fine_," Harry reiterated. In all his years at Hogwarts, he'd spent more than his fair share of days and nights in the hospital wing, and it was by and far the last place he wanted to spend any of his time this summer. "I was just really tired. It's been… a while since I've had a good night's sleep."

"Yes," said Dumbledore, his eyes searching Harry's face. "Do feel free to speak with Madam Pomfrey should your difficulty sleeping persist." Harry nodded, shifting uncomfortably under Dumbledore's gaze. "Well," Dumbledore said, clapping his hands. "I have an appointment I must attend. Perhaps you could sit with Professor Snape for a bit, as you did the other night?"

"Er, no, uh, I don't want to intrude," Harry said in a rush, shifting nervously from side to side.

"You will not be intruding, I can assure you. Severus could use the company." Dumbledore smiled, amused at Harry's skeptical look. "He will not be able to interact with you, of course, but he will be aware of your presence. Healer Brady says it is like a waking sleep, meaning he seems to have an awareness of things happening around him. I, myself, read to him whilst I was there."

"Actually, sir, I think I'll just go back to the Tower. I-I should write Ron and Hermione, let'em know I'm okay. I'm sure they're worried…" Harry trailed off miserably.

In truth, Harry didn't want to write to them, having only horrible news to share. Plus, Ron would already know the details of that night on Privet Drive, what with Mr. Weasley being one of his rescuer's, and Ron would have certainly shared that information with Hermione. But, he didn't want to go sit and stare at an unconscious Snape, either!

"Yes, Harry they have been very concerned about you. I have been collecting their letters for you." Dumbledore pulled open a drawer in his desk and retrieved a small stack of letters, handing them to Harry.

"Thank you, sir."

"And Harry – you would do well not spending too much of your time alone. It will be of no benefit to you. It will in fact have just the opposite effect, keeping you too much in your thoughts."

"Wish I had a Pensieve," Harry grumbled, shuffling the letters about. Dumbledore frowned and rose from his seat.

"They can be rather useful at times, but, you cannot truly escape your troubles by simply removing a few memories. They exist as part of an entire tapestry and are wholly connected so that together, they give our lives meaning. Our memories shape and ground us, connecting us to loved ones. They also provide a wellspring for emotion when we are bereft of it. Removing any part permanently would leave the tapestry frayed and subject to destruction, Harry."

"I'm subject to destruction, regardless," said Harry bitterly.

Dumbledore sighed softly and an intense anger flared up within Harry. He'd been fine an hour ago when he had woken up – sort of. But, now Dumbledore, with his babble of frayed tapestries and memories, was making matters worse.

"I'm going outside… get some air... sir," Harry said, jumping to his feet and jamming his letters into his back pocket.

Before the old wizard could respond, Harry was out the door and down the stairs, never stopping until he burst through the great front doors of the castle. Taking a deep cleansing breath, he decided that the intensely sweet afternoon air was a refreshing switch from the suffocating air of Dumbledore's office.

Descending the stone steps, he made a beeline for the lake and the old oak tree where he, Ron, and Hermione often sat during the school year. It was the same tree under which his father and his friends had spent time. Immediately, a vision of James Potter, Remus and Sirius came to mind, acting as Harry imagined carefree, self-possessed teenagers acted.

His father and Sirius had been as close as brothers and Harry had dreamed of the time – after all the madness to do with Voldemort was over – when he and his godfather could sit and talk about anything, James, Lily... the future.

Now, that future looked as bleak as ever, especially in light of the prophecy. Since learning its contents, Harry had not only had to ingest losing Sirius, but also the staggering uncertainty of his own survival. Wisps of Dumbledore's memory from the Pensieve came to him: _'And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives...'_

Harry cursed loudly, wanting to think of light, life, and a future without Voldemort being a twisted part of his destiny.

The two were not related by blood, yet inexplicably, the scar Harry had received that Halloween night so many years ago, had bound him, a baby, now a teenager, to the darkest wizard of the age. That he could never escape that connection without dying or killing another, twisted his insides.

Frustrated with this vein of thought, Harry started back toward the castle.

Back inside, he proceeded to the hospital wing. He peered inside to see Healer Brady standing at the foot of Snape's bed, scrawling rapidly on a sheet of parchment. At the sound of the door opening, Brady looked up and smiled, beckoning Harry inside. Harry was tempted to just turn tail and leave, but he was curious how Snape was doing.

"Harry, it's nice to see you," Brady said. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine, thanks."

"Come to sit with Professor Snape?"

Harry shrugged half-heartedly. "For a few minutes, I guess." He hadn't anything better to do at the moment.

"Wonderful! I just need to finish updating his report."

"'Kay," Harry said, already wanting to leave. Instead, he walked to Snape's bedside. A short stack of books rested on the chair beside the bed. He figured they must be the ones Dumbledore had been reading to Snape.

"It shouldn't take too long. After I'm done I'll need to change the bandages on his hands and apply Murtlap Essence to his cuts," Brady said.

Harry nodded sagely, intimately familiar with Murtlap Essence and its healing traits. He absently rubbed his left index finger over the top of his right hand, feeling the raised ridges of the permanent souvenirs from his detentions with the Wicked Witch of the Ministry, Dolores Umbridge. He vainly wished she were still being borne about by the Centaurs in the Forbidden Forest. He could just hear that disgustingly girlish voice of hers demanding to be put down because –

"...wouldn't mind assisting me?"

"Sorry... What?" Harry blinked, trying to clear his mind of the image of a screeching, toad-faced Umbridge.

"You wouldn't mind assisting me, would you?" Brady asked again, regarding Harry curiously. "You okay? You went away there for a bit..."

"Er... I'm fine. Um, where's Madam Pomfrey? I don't know anything about healing."

"She's with Professor McGonagall. I don't expect her back for at least another hour. You'll do fine, Harry. Plus the process will go much quicker with four hands as opposed to two."

Brady lifted his eyebrows expectantly. Harry began picturing Snape awake, looking less than pleased at the idea of Harry seeing him in such a vulnerable state, let alone helping to change his dressings. Harry almost snorted with laughter at the furious scowl he knew would have graced the Potions master's face in that instant.

"Okay," Harry said, grinning deviously.

"Brilliant!" said Brady, answering Harry's smile with a beaming one of his own. "I only need a moment to prepare."

While Brady was gone, Harry perused the books Dumbledore had left. He was surprised to find they weren't mind-numbing potions manuals or journals; instead, they were 19th century wizarding mystery novels penned by a Gizem Schreiber.

Sitting down, he took one in hand and placed the others on the side table. He didn't open it; instead taking a moment to observe Snape's bruised face.

He looked no better than that first night. His eyes, blackened and puffy, competed horribly with his cracked, dry lips; the deep cuts or scratches on his cheeks were reddened and painful looking; and his hands and left forearm were still raw, weeping messes. Harry shifted uneasily, gripping the book tightly, good humor fled.

_I shouldn't have agreed to this_, he thought. _He wouldn't want me sitting at his bedside, pretending like I care! And reading to him? _Harry mentally scoffed at the idea._ But, if Dumbledore's right, it's my fault he's here, _he reminded himself, frustrated at the senselessness of it all and hating his connection to Voldemort all the more.

He stewed in silence for the next several minutes until he heard Brady's returning footfalls. The young Healer was bearing a tray filled with several bottles of various shapes and sizes.

"You can wash up in the corner, just over there," said Brady, lifting his chin in the direction of a sink two beds down.

Harry went to wash his hands, returning just as Brady had unstoppered all the bottles.

"First I'll need your assistance removing the old bandages from his hands."

"Okay."

"We'll need to move slowly so as not to aggravate the new tissue. When you see skin, let me take over." Harry nodded silently. "Now, you need only roll it around gently…"

Helpfully, Brady had magically suspended Snape's right arm. Harry easily pinched the edge of the bandage and began to unwind it. Once he saw the mutilated flesh of Snape's hand, he gulped, stifling the instinct to vomit.

"Now, Harry, as soon as I've cleared the last of the bandage away, you must coat his hand with this burn healing paste."

"Okay," Harry said, willing his eyes not to water as he watched the sticky paste bubble and sizzle, working to create healthy skin in place of the ruinous flesh.

Soon, both Snape's hands were bandaged. Brady then administered the salves for Snape's other injuries within minutes.

"Well," he said, "I must prepare his evening doses. Would you mind sitting with him a bit longer?" Seeing Harry's mouth tighten ominously, Brady quickly added, "Just until Madam Pomfrey returns, which should be any minute. I'll just be in her office should you need me."

"Sure." Harry sighed, familiar with how long Pomfrey's 'minutes' tended to last.

Once Brady left, Harry reached for the book he had been holding before, and began to read aloud.

*WO

That night in the Tower, Harry read the letters he had received from Hermione and Ron, starting with the ones sent the night he arrived at Hogwarts.

_Dear Harry,_

_Ron told me what happened! How dreadful! How are you? _

_I'm so sorry about the Dursleys. I know you didn't like them, but they were your relatives and their deaths must have been a terrible blow. _

_With everything that has happened, I know you'll need to talk about things, especially what happened at the Ministry. You must miss Sirius terribly… _

_What are you plans for the summer, now? Why aren't you at the Burrow? Everyone would love to have you there!_

_I wish I could go visit, but my parents won't let me out of their sight! Mostly I'm recuperated, but I'm still a bit sore. My mum has hardly left my side since I returned home and she's not been into her office at all. She says she may take off the entire summer to stay home with me! I understand how scared she and my dad were, but it's getting a bit ridiculous, to be honest._

_Please respond as soon as you're able, I want to know that you're okay! _

_Hoping to hear from you soon, love,_

_Hermione_

Harry knew he would have to respond to her quickly or he could expect a letter or more a day from her. He opened Ron's letter next.

_Harry,_

_Tough break about the Dursleys. I would say good riddance to bad rubbish, but I know the blood protections fell as soon as they died, and as hideous as they were, they were your relatives._

_Dad told us about the rescue. Cutting it close with those Death Eaters, eh? _

_You must be bored out your skull with nothing to do at the castle! Dad says you refuse to come and stay because you're a danger. Don't be a prat! We're in danger whether you're here or not! Blood traitors, remember? It's still early in the summer, just think of all the pick-up Quidditch games we could get in! _

_Fred and George have been spending a lot of time in Diagon Alley setting up their shop, and being annoyingly secretive gits about it, especially when the subject of where they got the Galleons to open it comes up. Of course, Mum doesn't approve. She's scared they did something illegal, so she's been trying to guilt them into telling her how they got the money, raving on about how she can hardly sleep at night from worry. I wish she'd give up trying to get anything out of them. Though, I must say, I'm curious where they got the money, as well. I wouldn't put it past them doing something moronic, but I hope it wasn't actually illegal… Although, if they got caught, it'd serve them right, not telling me what's going on!_

_Ginny says 'hi'. __Percy says, 'I'm still an arse-kissing, boot-licking, Ministry buggering, mother-fu__ Mum made me cross that out… Fred and George want you to stop by the shop sometime, which is so not on! I'm their bleeding brother and they won't let me anywhere near the place! I don't know why they're being so nice about it with you! __Wankers!__ Argh! That woman can sniff out a swear word in her sleep!_

_Well, write when you can. I know if Hermione doesn't hear from you, it'll be like when you were ten all over again with letters flying out of the fireplace or something._

_Ron_

Harry chuckled at the last line of the letter. He remembered well trying to retrieve one of the hundreds of letters flying around the house on Privet Drive as his uncle grappled with him, trying to stop him. Fed up with the never ending flux of letters, Vernon had herded the whole family into the car, determined to find a place that the magical post couldn't follow.

_Unfortunately, magic did eventually find them, and kill them, _Harry thought.

*WO

**Hospital Wing, Hogwarts, June 1996 **

Harry's days soon came to consist of rising at 9 a.m., taking a light breakfast in the kitchens while listening to Dobby chatter on about the honor of serving Harry Potter, and then heading off to the hospital wing. His routine there was to read to Snape for about an hour, take a break, come back, and read a bit more. He would then have a late lunch, ordering it up from the kitchen by Floo. Also, it had become habit for him to aid Healer Brady in changing Snape's bandages in between reading breaks.

Unused to reading aloud, let alone for hours at a time, the first couple of days reading made his throat raw. Harry was grateful when Madam Pomfrey gave him a cool, clear potion which soothed his throat, along with a strange concoction that smelled of peppermint and warmed instantly when he applied to his jaws if he felt himself tiring.

But, when the weekend arrived, instead of heading to the hospital wing immediately after breakfast, he went to Hagrid's hut. There he was greeted by a joyful Fang leaping up to place his huge paws on Harry's shoulders while barking loudly and panting his very doggy breath into Harry's face.

"Down Fang!" roared Hagrid, exiting his hut to see what had excited the dog. His wildly bearded face broke into a broad smile upon seeing his guest. "All righ' there, Harry?"

Harry grinned at the familiar greeting. "Fine, thanks. You?"

"Oh, I bin keepin' busy." Hagrid walked over to rescue Harry by giving Fang a nudge, easing the boarhound off the boy's shoulders. "Eh, I'm real sorry abou' the Dursleys," he said, shaking his shaggy head. "I know wha' they were like an' I know yeh didn' git on with 'em, but fer 'em ter be killed by You-Know-Who…" Hagrid then gave Harry a gentle pat that rocked him so far forward, he had to take a step or fall over.

Harry knew it was appropriate for people to express their sympathy for his relatives' deaths and he accepted that. But, his feelings regarding the Dursleys were convoluted because they hadn't loved him and had gone to great pains to prove it. While he regretted they'd been killed because of their connection to him, it wasn't as if he had loved them either. Truth was he could not have felt more distanced from the emotions that should have come with grieving for family members, yet he knew full well that the shallow grief he felt for them was more than half of what they would have felt for him had _he_ died. Thus, his response to Hagrid was not unfeeling, but simple.

"Yeah, er, thanks Hagrid."

The half-giant regarded him for a moment as if anticipating some dramatic, emotional breakdown. When there was none, he moved to sit down on his front step.

"Well, like I said, I bin keepin' busy. Grawpy's bin ter visit. Come from his new place in the moun'ains east a' here. He was here the night Professor Snape came back."

Relieved Hagrid had not dwelled on the Dursleys, Harry nodded. "Yeah, Dumbledore told me. It's good you two were there."

"It actu'lly comes down ter Fang," Hagrid said, with a puzzled grin. The dog, lying at his feet, thumped his tail at hearing his name. "Gen'rally he's a righ' coward, but tha' nigh', he jus' bolted fer the road. I didn' have a clue wha' he'd heard.

"Then Grawp got riled as flashes started comin' from the wood on the other side o' the road. I reck'n it reminded him o' seein' me attacked by them Ministry blokes, but he took off after Fang an' tha's how we foun' the Professor – 'alf dead, he was." Hagrid shook his head sadly and his black eyes flashed wetly.

"But, he's gonna be okay," Harry said, wanting to comfort the man. Hagrid brightened at Harry's confident tone.

"Yeah, he's a figh'er, Professor Snape."

"So, what have you been up to besides playing hero?" Harry grinned.

Hagrid flushed. "Oh, I bin doin' things fer the Order. Jus' met wi' Dumbledore, in fact."

"What're you doing? I thought after how things went with the giants last year…"

"Oh there's a righ' amoun' ter do here at home. There's other creatures wha' You-Know-Who's bin tryin' ter bring o'er ter his side."

"What creatures?" Intrigued, Harry moved to sit on a tree stump.

"Well, there's the Adar Llwch Gwin."*

"Adar Llwch Gwin?" Harry said, his tongue tripping over the pronunciation. "Never heard of 'em."

"Mos' wizards don' know nothin' about 'em."

Too often Harry found himself ignorant of some fact that was common knowledge in the wizarding world, so Hagrid's statement made him feel infinitely better.

"I on'y know meself 'cause, well it's me job ter know abou' special animals," Hagrid said with a shrug.

Well acquainted with Hagrid's idea of 'special,' Harry grinned. Tiny fuming newly-hatched dragons came to mind.

"What are they?"

"They're gian' birds wha' look a lot like a griffin, but they un'erstand English, er wha'ever language is spoke roun' 'em. They don' norm'lly have a master, but if one can manage to rule o'er 'em, they're dead easy to command."

"Why don't most wizards know about them?"

"The Department fer the Reg'lation an' Control o' Magical Creatures thought they'd gone extinct," Hagrid said, "but they jus' bin hidin'. Did'n wan' ter be used in no more wizard wars.

"Hunnerd's 'o years ago they was controlled by dark wizards. Legend is they had a master wha' ordered 'em ter kill a Muggle king, but when the king got delayed ter the battle, they turned on their master instead. Ripped the poor bloke ter bits…"

"So they're evil?" Harry asked.

Hagrid shook his head. "Nah. They're not dark creatures like D'mentors. In the righ' hands, I b'lieve they're righ' harmless, but they're bes' lef' on their own, I think.

"'Cept now, You-Know-Who's searchin' fer 'em an' migh' be righ' close ter findin' out where they bin keepin' themselves. Tha' happens, he'll do whatev'r it takes ter turn 'em," Hagrid mused darkly. "If they're made ter do his biddin', he'll have some pow'rful strength on his side."

Harry shifted uncomfortably on the stump. "More powerful than the giants?"

"It'd be a frigh'ful army, fer sure," Hagrid said, sighing roughly.

_Maybe I should've gone to the hospital wing, read a book, _Harry thought morosely as he pondered Hagrid's words.

Giant birds, giant giants, werewolves, Dementors, and Merlin knew what else! How were they supposed to fight that? What did Dumbledore have planned? Voldemort had an army, a real army! The side of light had – Harry Potter. Harry snorted in bitter disbelief.

Sensing Harry's darkening mood, Fang lumbered over. He thrust his large head against the boy's hand repeatedly until Harry scratched him behind his velvety ears. Harry offered a small smile to the dog now resting his head on Harry's knees, leaving a perfectly round circle of wetness where on his tongue lolled against Harry's jeans. He tried to absorb the gentle comfort the boarhound was giving, but his mind was now filled with questions, doubt, and frustration.

'_Power the Dark Lord knows not.'_

_What power? I'm no more powerful than most of those in my year, especially since we began DA meetings! So, what exactly is this 'power'? When does it kick in?_

"Yeh all righ', Harry?" Hagrid's beetle-black eyes were creased with concern.

Harry sighed. "Yeah, but, I should probably get back."

"Yep, I'm sure Professor Snape is wond'rin where yeh got off ter." Hagrid grinned slyly, getting to his feet. "He'll be missin' his stories."

"Too right," Harry replied with a knowing smirk.

Hagrid had taken Madam Pomfrey and Healer Brady's thoughts on Snape's 'sleeping' awareness to heart. After catching Harry reading to Snape one day, Hagrid had made a habit of stopping by the hospital wing, as well.

Whenever he visited, he sat in the chair (magically charmed to enlarge or shrink to suit whoever sat in it by Dumbledore as a courtesy after Harry complained about the horrid discomfort of the wooden one) and recited stories about the 'int'restin' creature's' he had encountered over the years.

Once, Harry had gone to visit and found Hagrid sitting with his hands resting comfortably on his knees, his deep voice rumbling wistfully about such creatures as streelers, quintapeds, and mackled malaclaws. And of how, though, he had never seen a Yeti, his desire to see one was only second to wanting to own a dragon. He also said that if Gilderoy Lockhart had ever encountered a Yeti, he would eat You-Know-Who's underpants – 'if the soulless bastard wore any.'

Harry had quietly snickered and eased the door shut, bemused because he'd never once considered the relationship between Hagrid and Snape, having never really seen them interact. Yet, ever since Harry's first year at Hogwarts, Hagrid had been steadfast in his belief that Snape was protecting Harry. And if Dumbledore were to be believed, Snape had risked life and limb, literally, to save Harry and the Dursleys. While these claims should have effectively doused his cynicism regarding Snape's motives, Harry's feelings about the Potions Master remained muddled.

Harry wished he could just ask the man if he was truly fighting for the side of light—not that he expected to get an honest answer or an answer period because, admittedly, it was a presumptuous question, but he needed it answered, whether it ruffled Snape's feathers or not. Then again, perhaps he was better off not knowing. It would be a new and rather uncomfortable reality if the truth contrasted what he had long believed. Even now when sitting with Snape, Harry would catch himself staring at the man, angrily thinking of all the animosity that had passed between them. For that reason, he hoped that what he believed to be the truth was the truth. The established ideal of the heartless Head of Slytherin was easy to manage. Harry wouldn't know how to cope with a heroic Snape, or shadow guardian as Hagrid claimed him to be.

Heading back to the castle, Harry decided it wasn't worth puzzling over if the man wasn't awake.

*WO

**Hospital Wing, Hogwarts June 1996 **

Days later, Harry was sitting in his familiar spot in the hospital wing just after lunch. After attending Snape's wounds – with Madam Pomfrey this time – he settled in to read yet another mystery novel, this one titled _What's Owed _by Lucretia Varney.

The beginning was dull; a boring book combined with a full stomach, a comfy chair and a silent ward created excellent conditions for napping! He was soon curled up sideways in the plush chair, fast asleep, his hands loosely grasping the book in his lap, his thumb marking the page where he'd left off reading.

Since his arrival at Hogwarts two weeks ago, Harry's sleep had been dreamless. Grateful for being spared the repetitive nightmare featuring Sirius, he has given it little thought after a few days. Now, as his sleep deepened, the sun's rays began to shift and darkening shadows began to quickly lengthen. Rain began to clatter noisily against the windows and Harry's eyes began to move rapidly beneath his fluttering eyelids. He twitched and his grip suddenly tightened on the book in his hands.

_He and the others were trapped in the Department of Mysteries, trying to outrun Death Eaters in the room of spheres. They bolted toward doors marked macabrely with bleeding X's, and were repeatedly repelled when they tried to touch the doorknobs. A loud sucking noise caused him to look up. There was Ron, floating above him, the giant squid's tentacles gripping him in a tight embrace as Ron giggled insanely. _

_The scene shifted and there was Lucius Malfoy in the forest, shouting '_Crucio!' _and casting the curse about randomly, striking Neville and, inexplicably, Draco, numerous times.__Useless mist filled orbs floated just out of the elder Malfoy's reach. Back at the Ministry, Hermione convulsed and screamed piercingly on the floor as a Death Eater, whose wild laughter made Harry's stomach roil, cursed her. Blood stained Hermione's shirt as she coughed it up, spattering it all around._

_Then the veil came in to view. That seemingly innocuous object which had severed his last connection to a love that was protective, genuine, and fortifying. Gut-wrenching hatred gusted within Harry as Bellatrix appeared, her mouth, a black hole of evil, open and shrieking at a man with black hair who began falling backward into the fluttering veil as a curse struck him in the chest. Oddly, he fell, only to bounce back from beyond the veil to be struck down again. _

_The gruesome scene repeated itself as Harry ran forward, trying desperately to grab the man as he bounced back _–_ so close, Harry could feel the breeze of his passing. His eyes glimpsed those of the falling (writhing) man. They were gray (black) eyes that were stunned (terrified) as the curse made contact. Then the face morphed grotesquely: Sirius, Dudley, Uncle Vernon, and Aunt Petunia. Finally, it fixed into a face that was sallow skinned, marred by cuts and contorted into a scream with accusing black eyes framed by wildly swinging black hair._

Harry screamed, then vomited.

"Harry!" Someone was shaking him. "Harry, wake up!"

"Professor?" Harry croaked. He heard a voice mutter, '_Tergeo_.'

"No, Harry. It's Healer Brady. Galen."

"Galen?"

"Yes, Harry. Open your eyes."

Harry didn't want to open his eyes. They burned with the images he had just seen, so hot, he feared they just might turn to ash if exposed to air. So, he sat trembling, taking gulping breaths, his heart pounding painfully against his ribs. He swiped an arm across his mouth, trying to do away with the sticky wetness.

"Slow and easy breaths," Brady coaxed, until Harry's breaths did come easier. "Better?" Brady asked.

Harry nodded silently, trying free his mind of that face morphing into the faces of those whose deaths haunted him.

"Here… have some water."

"No, I'm okay," Harry whispered roughly.

"You're not. Open your eyes..." Then Harry felt fingers on his own, trying to loosen the gouge-inducing grip he had on the book in his hands. "Harry, ease up – let it go," grunted Brady. "Harry, come on –"

"LEAVE ME ALONE!" Harry rounded on Brady, his hands raised. The Healer, who had been crouched beside Harry's chair, was sent flying. A sudden thunderclap masked the sound as he crashed awkwardly into a hospital bed – six beds away.

Harry saw the man pull a face as his back slammed into the bed's iron frame. Horrified, Harry sprinted over to help him up. Brady quickly waved him away, groaning as he tried to roll over onto his knees, his face purpling with the effort. Then he cried out, clutching his back. Harry ran to get Madam Pomfrey.

"What happened here?" she demanded upon seeing Brady sprawled awkwardly on the cold stone floor.

"I hi –" Harry began, but was quickly overridden by Galen.

"… my fault," Galen gasped, gazing at Harry with something akin to awe, though it was mixed with a healthy dose of fear. "Clumsy… I dropped… water glass and slipped," he said. Harry gaped in disbelief at the lie.

"Merlin! Where are you hurt?"

"My back," Galen groaned, trying to roll over.

"Be still before you do yourself more damage!" Pomfrey scolded. "Let's have a look." She set about waving her wand along his back. When it turned orange, she stopped and muttered, "_Coccyx," _holding the wand in place until it glowed white.

"Ahhh..." Galen breathed, standing to stretch and twist his back. "Much better. Thank you."

The school nurse then looked around for the cause of Brady's fall. The glass had landed at the foot of Snape's bed, and Harry knew she was wondering how the Healer had managed to slip on a substance more than three meters away from where he had come to rest.

She gazed questioningly at Harry, who instantly dropped his eyes to admire the floor; Brady calmly returned her gaze when she looked upon him. Instead of interrogating them, as Harry had been sure she would, she turned and banished the broken glass and water.

*WO

That night Harry was exhausted. Before leaving the hospital wing, he apologized profusely to Galen. The healer assured him all was forgiven and suggested he go to the Tower to rest. It was the last thing Harry wanted to do, but he _was_ tired.

He forwent his nighttime ritual of a shower and brushing his teeth, thinking he'd be up in an hour or two for dinner, anyway. The instant his head hit the pillow, he was asleep.

*WO

**Gryffindor Tower, Hogwarts, June 1996 (21)**

Harry woke to find Professor McGonagall sitting in a high-backed, red velvet chair, which she had surely conjured.

_Not again._

He lay there momentarily distracted by the sight of her small, booted feet propped up on a tartan covered ottoman as she perused _The Daily Prophet._ After a moment, he directed his attention back to the newspaper, squinting at the front page. Unable to make anything out, he gave it up and reached for his glasses.

"Mr. Potter." McGonagall folded the paper and removed her feet from the ottoman.

"Professor," he said, his voice thick with sleep.

"How are you feeling?"

_Like I've got cotton for brains. _

He shrugged. "Okay." He sat up to swing his legs over the side of the bed and cleared his throat. He was still wearing the clothes he'd had on while in the hospital wing. "How long?"

"Two days. What's the last thing you remember?"

"I was reading to Sn –, Professor Snape. I fell asleep, and then, er, Healer Brady, sent me back here," he finished, rather lamely. It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the whole truth, either. He hoped she wouldn't call him out on it.

McGonagall only nodded. "He became worried about you when you didn't show up yesterday morning, so he alerted the Headmaster, who came to check on you. When you didn't wake, he alerted Madam Pomfrey."

"You've been here the whole time?" he asked, embarrassed about having to be watched over in his sleep like a baby.

"No, Professor Dumbledore sat with you for several hours the first night. Then Madam Pomfrey sat with you," she said. "Hagrid came by, with Fang, and Healer Brady was here before I arrived this morning at 5 a.m."

Harry sat, stunned that all those people had once again been in and out of his room, and he had been oblivious to their presence. It unnerved him to be so vulnerable. His ability to awaken at the slightest noise had served him well in the Dursley household. Being oblivious there led to boxed ears, and rotund cousins pinning you to the ground, so he silently cursed his body's feeble state.

"Professor Dumbledore wanted to be informed the moment you awoke," McGonagall said. "I'll just go let him know."

After banishing the ottoman, she stood. Harry noted how deliberate her movements were, and recalled that she was still under Madam Pomfrey's care for the injuries she had sustained at the end of term.

"Professor?"

"Yes, Potter?" She turned to face him.

"How long before you're feeling better?"

She gave him a slight, pleased smile. "September is not _so_ far away."

She left him to contemplate his next move. His mornings normally began with a quick shower. He checked his watch and saw that it was two in the afternoon. He sighed, scratched his arm, then collected his things to go shower.

*WO

Re-entering his room, Harry noticed McGonagall's chair was gone. He dressed and left, thinking he would stop by the kitchens for a bite to eat before going to the hospital wing. When he entered the common room, he was startled to find Dumbledore sitting in one of the comfortable, squashy chairs.

"Sir, I didn't realize you were here," Harry said, hurrying across the room.

"Do not worry yourself, Harry." Dumbledore smiled. "Please, sit."

During his years at Hogwarts, Harry had never seen the Headmaster in Gryffindor Tower. He thought the wizened wizard looked odd sitting in such an ordinary, modern chair, as opposed to the more ornate one in his office. He tried to imagine Dumbledore as a student, lounging around Gryffindor common room and had to stifle a laugh.

"It has been a while since I have been here," said Dumbledore, as though he had read Harry's thoughts. He gazed around, a fond look on his face. "In my day the furnishings were rather formal. Instead of the comfortable sofas and chairs you now have, we had Victorian style settees and chaises, very dark, elaborate, and ornamental."

_That explains his office chair_.

"But, that is a discussion for another day, Harry. I have been rather busy outside of the castle, and with both you and Professor Snape requiring round the clock attention –" Dumbledore raised his hand as Harry opened his mouth in a furious denial, and said, "I know it was not your intent to require such care, but your – experience demanded it."

"Experience?"

"The wandless magic you performed in the hospital wing." Dumbledore's expression was inscrutable, which unnerved Harry almost as much as his glib statement of Harry performing wandless magic.

"Wandless magic? I didn't perform magic without –" He stopped, thinking back, visualizing the scene; he _hadn't_ had his wand in his hand when Galen was sent flying across the room.

Noting the recognition in Harry's expression, Dumbledore said, "Healer Brady shared with me what happened. He was concerned."

"Why? How is it any different from magic I did when I was little?"

"Then, Harry, you were unaware of your abilities. Now, with five years of magical training and other – experiences, you are developing into a rather powerful wizard." Harry raised his eyebrows. Dumbledore then asked, "Did you mean to harm Healer Brady?"

Harry stared, thunderstruck. "No! He doesn't think – No! I-I just wanted him to leave me alone! I had that nightmare and... I didn't mean to hurt him – I didn't!"

"He believes that, as do I. But Harry, I must say, I have suspected your use of wandless magic since before your arrival."

Harry looked up, his green eyes filled with anguish, confusion and now, anger. He'd been right. Dumbledore _had_ known more than he had let on at their earlier talk. He retrieved his mother's medallion from the pocket of his jeans and began rubbing it desperately.

"Tell me about your vision of Professor Snape in the forest that night. Do not forgo any detail, no matter how insignificant you believe it to be." Dumbledore had moved forward to the edge of his chair, prepared to hang on Harry's every word. There was a curious, almost predatory glint present in his blue eyes.

Harry sat back, folding in on himself, feeling like a field mouse being circled by an owl. He had no desire to recall that night, especially in vivid detail, and he didn't understand why Dumbledore wanted him to do it now. Nevertheless, Harry took a deep breath, relating what he remembered.

Dumbledore watched him intently as he spoke. When Harry finished, Dumbledore asked, "Before you woke, did you notice anything out of the ordinary? Hear anything strange?"

_You mean beyond seeing Snape tortured and hearing him scream like he was on fire?_ Harry thought bitterly. Taking a moment, he mentally ticked through the sequence of events once more: there was Snape, twisting about on the ground, then Voldemort unmasked him and…

"…a crack. There was a crack, like Apparition."

For a split second, Dumbledore's face betrayed an unsettling mix of exultation and… hunger, but, it lasted only a second before he reverted to a neutral expression. Now it was Harry's turn to lean forward as Dumbledore settled back in his seat.

"So, Snape Apparated out of there," Harry said with a shrug. "He's a powerful wizard."

"It would have been impossible, Harry," Dumbledore replied. "Tom always ensures that when he calls a meeting, one does not arrive until he gives the order, nor does one leave unless he allows it."

"So?" Harry regarded the Headmaster's face. After a moment, a preposterous realization hit him. He tried to laugh, but it caught in his throat. "You think _I_ did that?" When Dumbledore's expression remained bland, guarded, Harry – his mocking smile vanished – angrily said, "You do – don't you?"

"Harry…"

"That's not –" Harry croaked, jumping to his feet, fingers grappling with his hair. "I couldn't have done – Not _me_!"

'_Power the Dark Lord knows not.'_

"Harry there is no need to be alarmed –" Dumbledore reached toward Harry, making calming gestures with his hands.

"_What_? I threw a man across the room – I didn't even have my wand out! Something's wrong… isn't it" – he slapped a hand to his chest – "with me?"

"Harry, there is nothing wrong with you! We can deal with this, do not –"

"_We_? What do you mean 'we'? You're telling methat _I _Apparated Snape from-from some forest, out of the clutches of that evil _maniac_!" he shouted. "How exactly are _we_ supposed to deal with this?"

"Harry, you can be taught to control these powers. It is simply a matter of determining the extent of your capabilities and following through from there."

Chest heaving, Harry gaped at Dumbledore. Simple was not how he would have described being able to Apparate someone from a half a country away, or casting someone across a room without a wand. It was frightening, unbelievable, and not something he wanted to possess!

It was one more thing to set him apart from those around him; one more thing to make Voldemort even more desperate to do away with him; it was one more thing which Harry had to give himself over to and at that moment, it was too much.

Incensed with the dumbly expectant expression gracing Dumbledore's face, Harry fled the common room before he could do something he would regret.

*WO

_*Wikipedia, List of Legendary Creatures: _**Adar Llwch Gwin**


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: JK Rowling's characters.

**Hospital Wing, Hogwarts, June 1996 **

Determined to avoid Dumbledore at all costs, Harry rarely strayed from the Tower. After a couple days, though, hours spent listening to the torrential rain storms outside, starting and stopping letters to both Ron and Hermione, and endlessly replaying his conversation with Dumbledore in his head, grew tiresome. He left to visit Snape.

Entering the ward, Harry had to choke back a laugh. Snape was being examined by Brady, whose wand was perched above Snape's head, giving – after a great deal of suspended disbelief – the appearance of the Prince at Sleeping Beauty's bedside. With Snape's shoulder length black hair fanned out prettily on the pillow, his pale pallor and Brady's boyish good looks, complemented by a thick head of reddish-blond hair, it was somewhat plausible. Brady saw Harry and smiled back at him.

"Good afternoon," he said as Harry strolled over.

"Hi. How is he today?"

"There's been little improvement, but he hasn't worsened, either," Galen said conversationally. "He's still recovering rather slower than I would like – slower than normal, I should say. The wounds on his back, excepting the gash, are almost healed, and his legs need only two or three more applications of Murtlap Essence to clear them up. His face has improved, as you can see, but, his lungs, hands and his left forearm continue to be the most problematic."

"His hands look so much better, though." Brady and Pomfrey had removed Snape's bandages last week.

"Yes, but without regular use, the scarred skin shrinks and the tendons shorten."

"Meaning?"

"Ultimately, if he wakes, he may not be able to mix potions properly."

Snape would despise Harry beyond all reason if he knew Harry had spent even a nanosecond pitying him, but it scarcely computed: Snape without potions. Why not just cut off the man's arms? Harry imagined that was how Snape would feel, stripped of the gift that so defined him. The very thought made Harry nauseous.

Having spent so much time with Snape over the past few weeks, Harry's ire for the man had cooled, possibly because of the guilt surrounding Snape's spying, but also because Snape was asleep, silent, and powerless to ruin Harry's goodwill with any cutting commentary. Whatever the reason, Harry had never dreamed Snape would survive Voldemort's vengeance to end up handicapped, unable to carry on as before. It hardly seemed fair.

"So, what can we do until he wakes up?" asked Harry, squinting at Snape's scarred hands. When Galen didn't answer right away, Harry looked up to find the man beaming at him, blue-green eyes sparkling as he grinned wolfishly.

_Uh oh. _

"Well, I'm glad you asked Harry!"

Galen explained that while the ointment they had been using since removing the bandages had properly formed new skin and speeded the healing, they would now have to resort to therapy as Snape was unable to actively use his hands.

"What kind of therapy?" Harry asked, wary.

"Essentially, his hands need to be exercised to maintain his flexibility."

Harry saw where this was headed and mentally balked at the idea of exercising anything on Snape's body. It must have shown on his face because Galen grimaced and rubbed at his back, as if it pained him.

Harry scowled, determining that while guilt was a useless emotion, it still proved incredibly effective. "What do we do?"

"We must massage and flex his hands once every two hours in order to prevent the skin from contracting," Galen said, miraculously recovered from his spasm. "If it contracts, I will have to perform a procedure relieving the skin of that tightness, and that would arrest his progress, but the therapy should be effective enough so that we won't have to resort to that."

Harry knew he'd been roped into a situation that would only provide more fuel for the proverbial fire of Snape's wrath once he woke up – leaving him to sort of hope the man remained asleep. Nevertheless, after Galen's initial demonstration, Harry took over, and four times daily he massaged and flexed Snape's hands, so that by the weekend, he was performing the task effortlessly.

*WO

**Hospital Wing, Hogwarts, June 1996 (23)**

Harry exhausted the library's collection of mystery novels then took to reading thick historical biographies – another genre Snape favored, according to Dumbledore. He tried reading _The Untold Story of Claudius Ptolemaeus_, but was soon tripping over scientific words that had more syllables than Hogwarts had towers, so he put it aside.

He was now reading _Paracelsus_:_ Rejecting Agrippa and Flamel._ He thought Paracelsus' story might be more interesting than Ptolemaeus' as he was rather familiar with one of the wizard's Paracelsus was disputing – Nicolas Flamel.

But, more often than not, Harry's time was now spent simply sitting and talking to the unconscious man. Of late, there was much on his mind he wanted to be rid of, but, as had been his habit, he had to first organize his garbled thoughts so that he wasn't rambling nonsensically. Snape might not be awake, but Harry could easily imagine the impatient look on his face if forced to listen to Harry stuttering and stammering.

The first time, Harry had been ill at ease – it was _Snape_ he was pseudo-confiding in after all – but the need to unburden himself was pervasive. He missed talking to Ron and Hermione and knew they would both welcome regular letters from him, but knowing what those exchanges would be like, especially with Hermione, left him feeling raw. And though he spent copious amounts of time in the company of Hagrid, Galen and a fawning Dobby, it was not what he needed. He needed Snape's silence; he needed to be able to speak unfettered, free of someone telling how he should feel, why he should feel, even _if_ he should feel; he needed to be heard without judgment. So, who better to use than his unconscious professor as a sounding board to jettison the anxiety that had increased significantly since his conversation with Dumbledore?

That night, unable to sleep, Harry left the Tower for the hospital ward.

Snape was alone. Madam Pomfrey's office was dark, indicating she was in bed, her chambers just the other side of her office. Brady was most likely at St. Mungo's. He now visited the hospital intermittently to follow up on his most pressing cases since Snape didn't require such round-the-clock care as before. But, Harry knew there was no danger of anything occurring without their knowledge as they had set up an alarm to alert them of any changes in Snape's condition.

Taking his place in the chair next to Snape's bed, Harry leaned forward, clasping his hands between his knees. By the light of the night-candle, he found a strongly pulsing vein on Snape's thin hand. Focusing on it, he struggled to bring order to his racing thoughts.

"Since my first year here, you've done your best to make my life miserable." Harry paused. "I'm sort of glad 'cause I've never had to question where I stood with you. Plus, it's been sort of a great motivator – you hating me. Every year I've had to prove that I belong here, despite what you think, despite how you treat me...

"'Precious Potter', 'our new celebrity'," he said, in a rather spot on impression of Snape. "For the record, celebrity is overrated. I get what remaining family I have killed and you come close to… dying because of me, too. But, as hateful and spiteful as you've always been to me, I would never have wished for what they did to you.

"I want – I want you to know that I'm grateful – that you tried to help me. It's more than the Dursleys would have ever done," Harry whispered, "and _you_ hate me! They did, too, but they wouldn't have lifted a finger to help me if there wasn't a thing in it for them; maybe not even then. All they ever felt for me was fear, disgust, anger, disrespect, annoyance…" Harry snorted. "We could be here all night. But, you don't have anywhere to go, do you?" he joked softly.

"No, Potter… I don't."

*WO

Harry sat frozen, eyes on his decrepit trainers.

_Snape didn't speak._ _No, no, no. He's asleep. But... if that wasn't Snape, I might as well pack my trunk and head to the mental ward at St. Mungo's, maybe bunk with Lockhart!_

Slowly, Harry dragged his eyes upward. There was Snape's scarred hand, his chest, his chin, his lips, his hooked nose, and finally his eyes – black, open and staring right at him. Harry's mouth dropped open. He shot to his feet and stepped over to the bed.

"Professor!"

"Potter." The voice hardly more than a whisper, but the Snape snarkiness was firmly intact.

Harry blinked several times, making sure that what he was seeing was not an illusion. He whipped around as Madam Pomfrey's door slammed open.

"Madam Pomfrey, Galen! Professor Snape is awake!" Harry shouted at them stupidly.

Galen was already pushing past Harry, while Madam Pomfrey raced to the opposite side of the bed. "Merlin!" She clasped her hands against her bosom as if in prayer.

"Professor Snape," Galen intoned loudly, causing the man to stare at him, irritated. "How are you feeling?"

Harry watched Snape thinking that if Snape were looking at him the way Snape was looking at Galen, he wouldn't be anywhere near the man without a wand in hand and a hex on his lips. But Snape's fierce expression seemed not to faze the young healer.

Galen grasped Snape's right wrist loosely with his thumb and forefinger. Still and silent for a moment, he gazed down at the pocket watch he held in his other hand. Finally, he released Snape, looking satisfied.

"Glad to have you back with us, sir," said Galen in that same loud voice. Snape continued to glare, but now with a touch of confusion.

"I am… not deaf. Cease… shouting at me!" Snape wheezed, clearly still having trouble with his lungs.

He eyed Galen suspiciously as the healer began running his wand the length of his body. When there was nothing forthcoming from the young man, he shifted his head until he found Madam Pomfrey, his glare demanding answers.

"You've been in a deep sleep for several days, Professor," she said, patting his arm consolingly.

"Days! How many?"

"Sixteen," Galen answered promptly.

Snape closed his eyes and drew his lips tightly together.

"Are you in pain, Severus?" Madam Pomfrey asked, anxious.

"No! Where's... Dumbledore?"

"He's in London," she said. "He won't return until tomorrow."

Snape looked both puzzled and put out. Harry felt similarly.

"Harry, please leave us to examine the Professor," Galen said, directing his wand at the curtain to pull it around the bed.

Reluctantly, Harry stepped back, craning his neck until the thin fabric eventually blocked his view. Once Madam Pomfrey and Galen began to ask Snape questions, Harry turned to leave, knowing the man would not want him there for that.

On his way back to Gryffindor Tower, Harry inventoried his emotions. Snape was awake, absolving Harry of the guilt of yet another death on his conscience. So he should feel relieved, yes? The relief was there, but, there was a selfish disappointment as well. Who could he now turn to when feeling overwhelmed? It was shocking just how much Harry had come to rely on the man's silent comfort. That shock, coupled with the dread of things returning to normal colored what should have been a celebratory moment.

*WO

Following a restless night, Harry returned to the hospital wing the following afternoon. After brooding most of the night about the return to 'normal', he realized that while his perception of Snape had changed, Snape's perception of him had not, nor was it likely to. Having not yet worked out his feelings on that score, Harry felt strangely reassured at the welcome he received from Snape.

"What… is… he doing… here?" Snape asked, his eyes flicking in Harry's direction as he neared the bed. Brady chuckled at Snape's sour expression.

"Oh, Harry's come by to sit with you. It's been rather a habit for him these past few weeks." He turned his beaming face to Harry. Raising his eyebrows, he pointedly nodded his head in the direction of the chair.

Snape's nasty sneer at the prospect of having him for company nearly made Harry turn to go; instead he squared his shoulders and stepped forward to take his seat. Brady watched approvingly then turned his attention back to Snape.

"It's time for your afternoon potions, and we need to change your bandage, Professor. I'll just go get everything and then fetch you a light meal when we're done."

Harry had hoped Galen would ease up on the '_we's'_ peppered throughout his statement as he hadn't failed to notice the deepening look of horror on Snape's face.

After a long, thick silence, Harry cleared his throat and said, "I'm glad you're doing better, Professor."

Snape slit his eyes suspiciously. When he continued to stare, Harry began to drum his fingers on his thighs.

"Potter, if you… insist on… sitting… there, do be… quiet!" Snape rasped, as forcefully as he could.

_Insist? Really?_ To think, yesterday he had felt pity for the foul man!

"Sir," said Harry, trying to curb the irritation in his voice, "if you want me to leave, just say so."

"Nonsense!" came Brady's jovial voice, making both Snape and Harry jump.

"I'm leaving. He doesn't want me here." Harry stood up.

"Five points to Gryffindor," Snape sneered, eyeing Harry as if he was only just managing not to sick up at the sight.

"Professor, it only takes a moment when Harry helps me and it will be less painful for you if we work quickly. Now, Harry, if you would?"

Harry, serving up his own look of disgust, turned from Snape to look questioningly at the healer, but Brady was busily arranging things on the tray and didn't notice. Nor did he notice Snape's feral glare, wishing to blast him into the next plane, Harry knew, for he had been on the receiving end of that same murderous look numerous times.

"Fine," Harry muttered. The sooner this was over, the sooner he could leave.

Returning from the sink, he avoided looking into Snape's furious face, thinking that if he did look, he wouldn't be able to carry on, but he soon fell into the easy rhythm he and Galen had perfected over the past few weeks.

Finally, they gently rolled Snape onto his side, so that he was facing Harry. When Brady removed the last of the bandaging from his back, Harry heard Snape suck in a breath. He glanced down. Obscured by lank locks of black hair, Snape's eyes were squeezed shut in a grimace of pain, eerily reminding Harry of his expression in the forest.

"Sorry," Harry whispered.

"Stop a-apologizing... Potter and get on... with it!" Snape wheezed.

Once they had finished, Snape insisted on rolling onto his back unassisted. Galen then went to retrieve Snape's meal from the Floo. He returned bearing a tray laden with a fragrant bowl of leek and potato soup, crusty bread, and a steaming cup of Earl Grey. Harry was relieved that his services were not offered up to assist as Brady had cleverly charmed the utensils to feed Snape.

To occupy himself while the man ate, Harry pulled out his mother's medallion.

"Where did… you… get that?" Snape demanded, regarding Harry with incredulity.

"Professor Dumbledore gave it to me. It was my mum's." Harry gripped it protectively in his fist.

Snape pursed his lips in silence, though he clearly wanted to say more. For a long moment he gazed at the chain peeking out from Harry's hand, then slowly tore his eyes from it to focus on the tray in front of him, but he didn't eat, suddenly sullen.

Harry said nothing regarding Snape's puzzling behavior, but when he caught sight of the steaming spoonful of soup hovering above Snape's bowl, his stomach growled loudly – a reminder that he'd not eaten a meal all day. Embarrassed, he hung his head, hoping Snape had not heard.

"Hungry?" Snape said, his tone snide.

Harry shrugged. "I slept through breakfast, and missed lunch."

Snape eyed him piercingly for a moment. "Take this." He gestured toward his tray.

"No. Thanks – I can go to the kitchens and get something."

"I'm not… going to eat all… of this, Potter, take… it."

Harry _was_ famished, but he would feel awkward taking food from Snape; he needed the nourishment, even more than Harry did. Also, it was weird, Snape offering him something.

"No, I'll just go to the kitchens. Dobby won't mind fixing me something." He stood, pocketing the medallion.

Snape frowned and snapped, "Sit down!"

Harry almost obeyed, but then thought, _I don't have to listen to him!_

The only semi-parental figure in his life was dead, thus he had no one to answer to. Plus, school was out, so there was little Snape could do to him. He couldn't even give Harry a detention let alone order him to sit and eat that food – no matter how mouth-wateringly delicious it smelled!

"Potter… if you don't… sit down… this instant, I… will hex… you until you res-resemble a mud… puddle!"

Harry fell heavily into the chair, but only because Snape had turned a distressing shade of plum and his breathing had become frighteningly jagged.

"Should I go get Healer Brady?"

Snape laid his head back, gasping harshly. "No, be… fine… mo..." He inhaled deeply, but did not exhale. Then his eyes rolled back in his head.

"Oh damn!" Harry jumped up. "Galen, Professor Snape stopped breathing!"

Something crashed to the floor inside Madam Pomfrey's office. Alarmed, Harry ran over, but was nearly flattened as Galen dashed across the ward to Snape's bedside. Harry followed. Snape was lying as he had left him, except his head was now slumped over his chest and his skin was ashen.

Galen immediately banished the food tray and charmed the bed so that Snape lay flat. He quickly drew his wand up and down the length of Snape's body. Harry gasped as the healer's wand emitted a black mist when positioned above Snape's chest.

"What's that?"

"I was afraid of this," Galen muttered. "There's a clot. It's what's been interfering with his breathing… I need to clear it out." His eyes were utterly focused on Snape. "Harry, I'll need your help. I haven't time to summon Madam Pomfrey."

"What do you need me to do?"

"I'm going to roll him onto his side and I'll need you to hold him still while I work. I can't use a body binding spell because he'll need to work it out of his system orally. He'll vomit up a lot of blood, but don't be alarmed when you see it – it's necessary for him to expel it as it is likely toxic."

Harry nodded sharply.

"Now, grasp his shoulder – that's right, gently – pull him towards you. Hold him completely still..."

Grasping Snape's shoulder, Harry was amazed at how frail and wasted he was. Snape's ability to intimidate was renowned, and it went a long way in creating a larger than life image, but Harry now realized that he was just a man. At the moment he was an extremely ill man, so Harry focused intently on his task, trying not to think about the intimacy of the position he was in with someone who made no secret of his hatred for him.

Freeing the ties of Snape's hospital gown, Galen exposed his back and began moving his wand in a circular motion above the tightly wrapped bandages binding the man's ribs. He began to mutter softly. Harry had no clue what he was saying, but was soon entranced with Galen's soft tone as it went on for several minutes. Suddenly, his wand glowed a deep purple. At that moment, Snape inhaled a rattling breath and his body began to convulse, nearly dislodging Harry's grip.

"Harry, kneel on the bed! Keep a hold on him!"

Just as Harry made it up onto the bed, Snape vomited up a great spout of black blood. Harry grimaced at the sight of it and at the sound of Snape's harsh coughs, but he held tight to the man's shoulder, patting it nervously. Galen's chanting became faster as he moved his wand in the same circular movement until it emitted a yellow light. Snape then ejected a smaller gout of blood tinged with red this time. Eventually, following more intense chanting, Brady's wand produced a soft, white light.

"You can release him now, Harry."

Gently, Harry eased Snape onto his back and got down off the bed. He stood out of the way as Galen came round, pulling a bottle from his robes, spelling the mess on the floor into it. Galen then cleaned up Snape and ran yet another body scan. Harry was relieved to see that the wand continued to glow white.

"I'll need to go get a blood replenishing potion." Galen looked over at Harry.

"I'm not going anywhere."

With a tight smile, Galen nodded and left. Harry noted that Snape was still pale, but nothing like before. As he watched, Snape's face contorted and he coughed; not a harsh cough as he had done before, but it still brought blood to his lips.

Harry reached into the drawer of the side table and pulled out a flannel. He ran to the sink to wet it and brought it back, gently dabbing the blood away. He folded it and pressed it to Snape's forehead, soaking up the perspiration. Snape twitched beneath the cloth as though he didn't want to be touched, but Harry continued until he had wiped Snape's entire face and neck.

Galen returned. "Thank you, Harry – for staying and helping. The Dark Magic used on him has been quite the challenge to treat."

Harry nodded mutely.

"What precipitated Professor Snape's difficulty breathing?"

"Oh… er," Harry faltered. "He was trying to get me to eat from the tray you brought. I told him that I'd rather go down to the kitchens and… he got upset and…"

"Why was he trying to make you eat?"

"He heard my stomach growl."

"I see... Why not just take what he offered?"

Harry shook his head, suddenly annoyed. Why was this important?

"Look, he's my professor, not my dad! I'll be sixteen soon... He can't order me around – I didn't have to eat it if I didn't want to!" Harry said, embarrassingly aware of how childish he sounded.

"No, you didn't. But if you saw that it was upsetting him…"

"I didn't know he was getting that upset!" Harry fumed. "It's nothing new for him to be angry at me! Why would _he_ care if I ate or not?"

Just as Galen was about to respond, Madam Pomfrey entered the ward.

"Healer Brady, how is Professor Snape?"

"Much better. With Harry's assistance, I just finished performing _Sangre Libre_. He had a Thrombus Escuro.*"

Madam Pomfrey gasped as Galen explained what had occurred and how Harry had helped him. She bustled over to take a closer look at Snape, then turned to pat Harry gently on the shoulder. "It's good you were here, Mr. Potter," said Madam Pomfrey, smiling proudly at him.

Harry ducked his head, embarrassed. It hadn't been as though he'd had any choice.

"Why don't you go on to the kitchens and get a bite to eat, eh?" said Galen, sensing Harry's unease.

Harry hadn't wanted to seem anxious to get away, but he'd had enough of playing Healer for one day.

*WO

**Hospital Wing, Hogwarts, June 1996 (26)**

It was late when Dumbledore strode into the hospital wing newly arrived from London. Snape was sitting up, though his eyes were closed; he opened them upon hearing Dumbledore's entry. After casting a well fortified _Silencio_ around Snape's bed, Dumbledore pulled his chair as close as possible to the bed.

"Severus, my dear boy, how are you feeling?"

"Rather better, thank you," Snape said, the earlier harshness plaguing his voice, gone. The gash on his back was still bandaged, but his overall health, appearance, and mobility had improved within an hour of the noxious clot being expelled. "But, you've not come to discuss my good health just now."

"Not entirely, though I am heartily pleased that you are recovering so well." Dumbledore's blue eyes sparkled with sincerity.

Snape nodded, knowing Dumbledore fancied himself a sort of father figure to him. That Dumbledore knew Snape's own father had done next to nothing to encourage such a bond discouraged Snape from contradicting the elder wizard's sentimental leanings. Though he found Dumbledore's fawning treatment discomfiting at times, he tolerated it; had another not already filled that role quite effectively, Snape would have perhaps welcomed it.

"Why did Voldemort see fit to punish you so harshly?" asked Dumbledore, quick to the crux of the matter.

"Eavesdropping." Dumbledore frowned at Snape. "I was caught eavesdropping on Lucius and Bellatrix as they discussed their plan to capture Potter. Only it wasn't so much a discussion as it was a trap."

"How do you mean?"

"Following the debacle at the Ministry, the Dark Lord Summoned us to Malfoy Manor…" Snape narrowed his eyes. "Lucius was there. I had imagined he would be in the custody of Ministry Aurors."

"Yes," Dumbledore said, with a telling note of irritation. "There was a traitor within their ranks; a cadet named Billy Lloyd. Kingsley informed me that he fled that same night."

Unfamiliar with the name, Snape continued.

"Well, Bellatrix, hoping to be spared punishment for failing to secure the prophecy, professed a way to get to Potter and related the details to the Dark Lord in secret. After that meeting, no one was allowed to leave. Everyone was being monitored closely, myself more than I others, I think. That's why I was unable to make contact.

"They spent the week scuttling between secret meetings, assuredly discussing Potter, but I believe she was also taking that time to fill the Dark Lord's ear with innuendo regarding my absence in the Department of Mysteries, and the Order's miraculous appearance, much as she had done since the end of the battle. The eavesdropping was simply the icing on the proof needed to expose my double-dealing."

Dumbledore grunted softly. "What of the Dursleys?"

Snape shook his head. "I can't think of any substantive reason for killing them other than their link to Potter. Had he been captured, I believe the Dark Lord would have used the news of their deaths in a rather egregious attempt to taunt Potter, to subvert his will before killing him."

"You feel confident no one knew anything of the blood magic?"

"If they had, I don't think they would have toyed around with them like they did. It would have been quick – anything to hurry along Potter's demise."

"And _your_ discovery?"

Snape sighed harshly. "Well, that was rather anticlimactic. I imagined I was well hidden after trailing Antonin Dolohov to their meeting room, yet, as I was listening, Dolohov had doubled back…" Snape paused, agitated. "He grabbed me, Bellatrix," Snape sneered evilly, "stabbed me in the back just before Lucius stunned me and brought me to the Dark Lord. The gathering was to serve as a means of dealing with my treachery, as well as the success of getting Potter."

There was a peculiar moment of silence before Dumbledore asked, "Severus, how were you able to get away?"

Snape was instantly uneasy. He had devoted nearly every moment since he had awoken to that very question. The answer was that he didn't know. Despite his vivid recollection of every injurious act, every insufferable word uttered by that madman, and especially every tortured step along the road to Hogwarts, he drew an utter blank regarding that small window of time between being curled impossibly at the Dark Lord's feet and lying prostrate on Hogsmeade's High Street.

It didn't escape Snape that Dumbledore rarely asked a question to which he did not already know the answer, or did not already have a good idea what the answer was. And this question, as extraordinary as it was, would have to have an equally extraordinary answer. So, what did Dumbledore already know that Snape did not? He decided to play along.

"I don't know. One moment I was in that forest being cursed by those… and my hands..." Dumbledore made a soft noise of sympathy as Snape swallowed and glanced at his hands. "The next moment – I was breathing dirt, flat on my face on the road to Hogwarts." He shook his head, confused. "It felt like Apparition – but I was in no state to Apparate, and even if I had been – it would've been impossible. You know the Dark Lord always has safe guards in place so that wherever we are Summoned it is as heavily protected against someone getting out as against someone getting in."

Dumbledore regarded him silently for several moments before saying, "Harry witnessed you being tortured in a vision."

Snape blinked, wondering if he'd heard correctly. "What?"

"It is this connection he maintains with Voldemort. Either, Voldemort sent the image to Harry – or Harry has since developed untold powers of Legilimency." Dumbledore paused to let the words sink in. "Harry claims the vision was just like the ones he has experienced since last summer. But, you and I both know Voldemort would not be so foolish as to plant a vision now, especially if he were targeting Harry."

In the wake of Snape's silence, Dumbledore forged ahead.

"Severus, you believe your escape to be impossible – I disagree." Dumbledore tented his fingers beneath his chin. "I asked Harry to relate every detail of his vision. Prior to waking up, he remembered hearing a loud crack, like Apparition."

"So, what has that to do with –" Snape stopped, his eyes narrowed, tense disbelief and confusion embedded in every line on his face. "You think _Potter_ Apparated me out of there?"

Dumbledore smiled benignly. "Yes, Severus, I do – unless you have a more plausible explanation?" Dumbledore paused a moment, as though to allow Snape time to come up with a response. When there was none forthcoming, Dumbledore said, "As soon as he had the vision, he sent his owl to me. That is how I came to know you were in danger."

Snape stared at the headmaster, who gazed back, an infuriatingly calm expression upon his face. Snape's stomach began to roil sickeningly as he considered the implications of Dumbledore's words. Finally, he looked away as a bad taste flooded his mouth. The blood drained so quickly from his face, Dumbledore was on his feet in an instant, his hand on Snape's shoulder.

"Severus?" Snape closed his eyes and waved Dumbledore away.

_It isn't possible,_ Snape thought. _It can't be possible! That boy could not conceivably Occlude against a toddler, and Dumbledore wants me to believe he performed Legilimency on the Dark Lord – from a distance? Impossible! And even if it were, why would he do it?_

'_As hateful and spiteful as you've always been to me, I would never wish for what they did to you.'_

"_How_ could he be in Surrey and Apparate me to Hogsmeade?" Snape spat, shaking his head, trying to rid himself of the whispered words he had heard in a waking-dream state.

Dumbledore resumed his seat, his eyes brilliantly triumphant. "He shall be sixteen this year, a year from his majority. His powers seem to be maturing with him."

Snape, his dark eyes furious and accusing, said, "You knew he had... done that… Apparated me out of there?"

"Not until a recent incident with Healer Brady."

As Dumbledore related the story, Snape's frown deepened ominously as he repeatedly muttered, "Ridiculous, utterly ridiculous!" refusing to believe he owed a life-debt to someone he could only reluctantly credit with having the attention span of a woodlouse.

"Potter's relatives," Snape said, in an oddly fractured segue. "He blames himself."

"Yes, he does. Why do you mention it?"

"He said as much, last night… when he was here."

"Healer Brady and Poppy were right, I see." Dumbledore smiled.

Snape rolled his eyes and shifted uneasily. "I heard you reading. I also heard Hagrid waxing poetic about his creatures, Minerva, prattling on about the coming school year, and the _boy_…" His lip curled at the last.

"Yes, Harry felt responsible and was determined to be quite the companion."

"Why would he feel responsible for my being tortured? Is foiling the Dark Lord's plan for the prophecy not sufficient for his ego, he has to now imagine what happened to me had something to do with him?"

"Why Severus, it had everything to do with him! He bore witness to your torture, seeing it as if he himself had performed it." Snape winced. "My boy, too often you ignore the facts, though they are plain before you, especially when it comes to Harry," Dumbledore said. "That he sustains the ability to love in spite of the horrors he has witnessed in his short life, is admirable and unique. He is ruled by his heart, which would explain his headstrong ways –"

"Foolish more like," Snape snarled, desperate to preserve his impression of Harry as a mediocre wizard, undeserving of the wizarding world's adulation.

"It does get him into trouble occasionally, as he rarely considers the consequences of his actions. But, you were rescued – _yes_, Severus, rescued – by a boy who, over the years, you have given no reason to care about you or trust you. It is not surprising he feels responsible for what happened to you since he now knows that you were trying to save his family. Thus, I'm rather embarrassed to confess that it is because of him Galen arrived from St. Mungo's."

Dumbledore attentively eyed his clasped hands in his lap, pressing them together repeatedly. Snape found the nervous fidgeting troublesome, but Dumbledore rarely avoided eye contact with anyone. Eventually the old blue eyes sought out the intense black ones. The pleading expression there unnerved Snape.

"Severus, you were near death when Hagrid brought you in. Poppy was beside herself as she knew there was very little she could do for you here. But, ignorant of why you had been punished so severely and of what information Voldemort might have gained from you, I was reluctant to send you to St. Mungo's."

Snape listened warily. As Dumbledore continued his narrative, a vein in Snape's neck began to pulse ominously.

"No sooner had we settled you in, the blood protections fell in Surrey. I dispatched Fawkes to alert the Order and it was then that I surmised your condition had to do with Harry. But, even with him found to be safe, you would not have been had I allowed you to leave the castle. When Harry arrived and saw the desperate state you were in, he was deeply concerned for you and all but demanded I do something about it. You had ceased breathing in his presence and it frightened him. I thought –"

Snape threw up a hand to stop Dumbledore from talking. It was too much to accept all at once. The Boy Who Lived had fought to save a man he hated while the self-appointed father figure had just as quickly decided to let him die, unaided? Snape closed his eyes and laid his head back against his pillow.

"Severus, I –"

"Don't. Just… leave me alone."

"Seve –"

Snape's eyes flew open, burning with rage. "GO!" he roared. He wanted desperately to grasp his back, to quell the sharp pain that had flared there, but he didn't dare appear weak just then. He gritted his teeth, hoping he looked angry.

Dumbledore stood, reaching out. Snape snatched his hand away, placing it over his heart. Then he angrily focused his eyes on the wall ahead and counted, waiting for Dumbledore to leave.

Cold disregard was to be expected from the Dark Lord, but the old man had surprised him.

*WO


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: JK Rowling's characters.

_**R.I.P. Michael Jackson, 29 August 1958 – 25 June 2009**_

**Hospital Wing, Hogwarts, June 1996 (27)**

Harry entered the hospital wing after stopping by the kitchens for a late lunch. He couldn't help but gape at the sight of Snape sitting up in bed, clean dark hair swinging lightly as he read. _Paracelsus: Rejecting Agrippa and Flamel _waspropped up on a cushion on his lap, the pages turning magically at Snape's prompting. The man had been near death yesterday, and now he was sitting up, looking quite like his old self save the fading bruises and too thin (even for Snape) appearance.

"Having difficulty adding two and two?" Snape sneered, not even looking up from his book.

Harry blinked. Snape even sounded like his old self: stinging, snarky, irritatingly sarcastic. Harry almost smiled, but settled for an annoyed smirk instead.

"Not since I was five," he replied, coming forward to sit down.

"Ah, that explains it," Snape drawled, dark eyes following the arc of another page turning.

"What?"

"Your abominable ability to measure your potions ingredients precisely."

"Er, what does one thing have to do with the other?"

"Most magical children are able to add, subtract, multiply and divide by age three..." Another page turns.

"Well, I guess not growing up in a wizarding house has its disadvantages," Harry retorted, truly annoyed now and doubting Snape's assertion having befriended Ron, Neville and Hermione.

"My, my, do I detect a note of irritation?"

"No, annoyance."

The big book slammed closed with a wave of Snape's hand. He growled, exasperated. "Potter, why are you here?"

"I just wanted to check that you're okay!" Harry fired back.

"I don't need a nursemaid, Potter!" Snape spat. "Having Poppy clucking about is all the caretaking I can stomach. You need not pop in here every waking moment, as I am fine!"

"Fine!" Harry shouted. He leapt out of the chair, overturning it in the process, and proceeded to stomp out of the ward. As luck would have it, his shoelace caught on the chair's leg and he fell spectacularly, clubbing his chin on the hard edge of the neighboring bed's frame. Blood jetted from his chin, soiling the bed coverings and the floor.

"Damn it!" Eyes watering, Harry rolled onto his back, hand cupped over his chin. As he lay moaning, imagining that half the flesh on his chin was hanging loose, he heard muted, sardonic applause coming from Snape's direction. Astonished, Harry looked up at him.

"How very entertaining, Potter. Drama, action, comedy all rolled into one dazzling performance. Will there be an encore?"

From Harry's position on the floor he perceived more than a hint of mirth in the man's eyes: those same eyes which had, less than three weeks ago, been rife with fear for Harry; those same eyes that Harry now wanted to leisurely poke out for laughing at him.

"Mr. Potter!"

_Pomfrey_. Harry closed his eyes and groaned. Her sharp tone promised that whatever he said would not be met with much compassion as she had specifically instructed him not to disturb Snape during his visits if Snape was resting. Feeling a small measure of relief that that wasn't the case this time, he opened his eyes, then gaped at the sight of Snape – feigning sleep!

Instantly, Harry wanted to 'tell' on the man to Madam Pomfrey, who was now checking Snape's pulse; tell her that the sly Slytherin had been awake, eyes open, mouth spouting insults, only seconds ago! But, his chin was still gushing blood and painful to the touch.

"Come, Potter," Pomfrey said, after satisfying herself that Snape was all right. "Let's have a look at that chin."

Harry struggled to his feet to follow the irritated school nurse to her office. Then, feeling as though he was being watched, he glanced back at Snape and was galled by the smug smirk on the very much awake man's face.

*WO

Madam Pomfrey took mere seconds to mend Harry's chin, then shooed him out of the ward. Not bothering to spare a glance for his Potions professor, Harry bolted from the castle, running until he reached Hagrid's hut.

His knock on the door prompted Fang's booming barks and Hagrid's half-hearted admonitions for silence.

"Was abou' ter 'ave a cuppa," Hagrid said, closing the door after Harry passed through. "Yeh bin ter see Professor Snape?"

"Yeah," Harry grumbled, sitting down at the scrubbed wood table.

"I ain't seen him meself today. He's good, eh?" Hagrid removed the whistling tea kettle from the fire, setting it on the table, alongside two bowl-sized cups.

"Oh he's back to his old self, all right," Harry said. Looking around, his dour mood turned curious as he noticed an enormous patched rucksack sitting atop Hagrid's bed. "Going somewhere?"

"Oh, I got a special mission fer the Order," Hagrid said proudly as he poured out the tea.

"Doin' what?" Harry busily clasped his tea cup with both hands so as to politely ignore the rock cakes Hagrid had set out.

Settling into his seat at the table, Hagrid said, "Well, I can' tell yeh tha', but it's importan' work, _very_ importan' work."

Harry thought over the conversations he and Hagrid had shared over the past few weeks.

"It wouldn't have anything to do with those giant birds, would it?" At that, Hagrid started to look a bit shifty.

"It's importan' work an' tha's all I'm boun' ter tell yeh!" Hagrid picked up one of the rock cakes to take a huge, boisterous bite out of it. To hide his smirk, Harry took a sip of tea. Hagrid was so easy to read it was almost criminal.

"Fang going with you?" Harry looked down at the sleeping dog, whose large forepaw was currently resting on Harry's trainer. Hagrid shifted nervously.

"Well, here's the thing… I was hopin' yeh wouldn' mind lookin' after 'im, since yeh'll be stayin' here, an' all, an' yeh two get on so well. I stopped by the hospital wing ter ask yeh yeste'day, but Galen said yeh'd gone ter the Tow'r to res' after wha' happened wi' Professor Snape – I didn' wan' ter bother yeh…"

Harry was deeply honored that Hagrid would trust him to look after the boarhound and equally as grateful that it was Fang and not a Blast-Ended Skrewt or the likerequiring his attention. The half-giant visibly relaxed when Harry grinned.

"I don't mind at all," Harry said. Fang's tail gave a loud thump against the floor. "When are you leaving?"

"In the mornin', early."

Harry sprayed his sip of tea all over the table. "That soon?"

"Aye. It's dark and tricky business, but it's nuthin' I can' handle," Hagrid said, noting Harry's worried look.

He tossed his unfinished rock cake to Fang, who stood to quickly snuff it up, squishing Harry's foot in the process. For the next hour, they sat drinking tea and talking companionably. Harry told Hagrid about his and Snape's argument. Hagrid waved his massive hand dismissively.

"Ah, Harry, don' lis'en ter half o' wha' Professor Snape has ter say. It's mos'ly jus' fer show, though I know he's bin a bi' rough on yeh sometimes." Harry snorted with derision. "All righ', a lot," Hagrid amended, "but you gotta know tha' he's bin lookin' ou' fer yeh all them years an' not on'y 'cause it's his job as a member o' the Order."

Harry rolled his eyes. What other reason would Snape have for 'looking out' for him besides being ordered to do so by Dumbledore? Not wanting to argue the finer points of Snape's intentions, Harry held his tongue. He glanced out the small window next to the front door. Dusk was falling.

Hagrid followed his gaze. "Yeh bes' be gettin' back, eh?"

"Yeah, I s'pose." Harry sighed. He had been enjoying this time with Hagrid and didn't want to leave, knowing it would be the last he'd see of him for a while. But, he also knew he should not be outside the castle at dark.

"Me and Fang'll walk with yeh," Hagrid said, rising.

Fang scrabbled to his feet and trotted to the door. He pawed at it and whined until Hagrid pulled it open, then shot down the steps and out onto the grounds. He seemed to have spotted something small scuttling through the grass. Harry watched him bark and pounce after whatever it was.

Halfway across the grounds, Harry stopped, physically feeling the day's warmth slipping away as the sun sank below the horizon. He turned to watch it surrender its fading light to the bluish dark of night. He shivered. Normally he loved sunsets, but this one left him feeling strangely hollow and overcome with concern for his huge friend. Not even Fang's puppy-like antics relieved the unsettling feeling. He startled when Hagrid called to him, then ran to catch up.

"Well, Harry, yeh take care," Hagrid said once they reached the castle's steps.

"I will, Hagrid. You, too, okay?" Harry said, unable to mask the worry in his voice. "See you in a few weeks?"

Hagrid chuckled and pulled Harry to him in a gentle hug. "Yeh'll see me Harry, promise. I'll be here when term b'gins."

Harry nodded. He gave Fang a final scratch and raised his hand at Hagrid as he turned to go inside the castle.

*WO

**Hospital Wing, Hogwarts, June 1996 (28)**

Snape was napping when Harry entered the hospital wing the next afternoon, so he took the opportunity to quietly curl up in the chair next to the man's bed. He leaned back, closing his eyes, wanting only to rest for a moment, exhausted for having stayed up all night worrying about Hagrid.

Sleeping curled up in the chair next to Snape's bed was nothing new. During the weeks that Snape was 'asleep', Harry had often fallen victim to the comfy contours of the charmed seat while reading to the man after dinner. He eventually came to realize that reading at such a late hour on a stomach full of Hogwarts' rich fare was hardly a good idea, but, it was during those times that he had often dreaded going back to Gryffindor Tower. The Tower was lively and fun when full of students, but rambling about that great space alone was nothing he looked forward to.

In the ward he wasn't alone, and being lulled by Snape's soft, even breathing had become familiar. When they chanced upon him, Madam Pomfrey or Galen would sometimes wake him and send him off to the Tower; other times they would leave him alone to sleep. As tired as he was, he hoped this would be one of those times.

Nearly an hour into his slumber Harry felt a hand on his shoulder. He twisted around to find Dumbledore blinking down at him, his half-moon spectacles perched precariously on his long, crooked nose.

Harry covered a huge yawn before saying, "Professor."

"Harry, a word, out in the corridor, please?"

Harry stood and followed Dumbledore out of the ward.

"I have received a letter from Miss Granger."

"Oh." Harry began to fidget.

"She expresses great anxiety as she has not heard from you all these weeks."

"I haven't really had the time, sitting with Professor Snape, and taking care of Fang..." Harry said, knowing his argument was as sturdy as a house of Self-Shuffling Playing Cards.

Dumbledore pierced him with a look. "While what you have done for Professor Snape is commendable, Harry, I find it difficult to believe that you are that hard pressed to write even a short note to your friends."

When Harry said nothing in response, Dumbledore continued, "Miss Granger blames your lack of communication on your desire to avoid discussing the events in the Department of Mysteries and what occurred in Surrey. Is she right?"

Harry frowned. Of course she was right; Hermione knew Harry like the back of her hand. Reading Harry's expression, Dumbledore said, "Would it not be helpful to talk about it with those who have your confidence, who have an understanding of what you have experienced?"

Harry clenched his jaw, finding the question rather inane, considering its source. "That's just it... They _don't _understand, at least, not in the way I need them to… Ron and Hermione have their parents, so they couldn't possibly understand what I've experienced – _twice_!"

Harry couldn't help thinking of Hermione's letter and her dismissive attitude toward her parents' care: _'I understand how scared she and my dad were, but it's getting a bit ridiculous, to be honest.'_ No, she and Ron would never understand unless – Merlin forbid – it happened to them. He desperately hoped they would never understand; he desperately hoped they all made it through the coming war with their families whole and as unaffected as possible.

After allowing Harry a moment to calm down, Dumbledore nodded. "You are right, of course, but I ask that you reconsider responding to their letters. Harry, they may not know from personal experience the losses you have suffered, but they were by your side at the Ministry; they know how much you cared for Sirius." He paused. "They want only to be there for you."

Harry sighed, picturing his friends. Where Ron would exhibit a stoic concern, Hermione would be rattled, half out of her mind with worry. She would be either reading a mountain of bestselling Muggle books on the emotional pitfalls of avoiding grief, or determinedly pacing the floor as she over-analyzed and perhaps over-dramatized his mental state for having already read those books.

"I'll think it about it, sir," Harry said.

*WO

Ruminating over the conversation with Dumbledore, Harry reentered the ward, oblivious to the fact that Snape was awake. Though he had kept his eyes closed, the man had awakened when Dumbledore asked Harry out into the corridor. As Harry settled into his chair, Snape eyed him curiously.

"Break your broom?"

"What?" Harry looked up, confused.

"You appear to be… upset."

Harry shook his head. "It's nothin'." Snape hitched an eyebrow. Harry muttered, "Dumbledore…"

Snape lifted his chin slightly. "I'd have imagined that being teacher's pet whilst having the teacher all to yourself would make for a grand time."

Harry sighed and rolled his eyes, dismissing Snape's nasty tone. Resting his cheek against his fist, he stared at a thin shaft of sunlight rebounding off the stone floor at his feet, trying to consider what he would write in a letter to Ron and Hermione. Now that Snape was on the mend, perhaps he could share that as relatively good news. Ron would scoff, thinking it unfortunate Voldemort had failed rid the student body of the hated teacher, but Hermione would probably be relieved. Of the three of them, she had been the most apt to believe that Snape had truly been acting as a spy, as well as helping Harry.

"Say what is on your mind, Potter, or leave me in peace. It's rather distracting having you sitting there looking as if someone has just strangled your owl."

Harry sighed. "Dumbledore got a letter from Hermione. She's worried 'cause I haven't written her or Ron since I've been here."

"Oh? Trouble in paradise?"

"I just – I don't want to talk about what went on at the Ministry, or with the Dursleys, or… you."

At an early age, Harry had learned to be tight-lipped when it came to his feelings. When he ever dared voice his displeasure after being assaulted by Dudley to his aunt or uncle, he quickly grasped that silence was a far wiser course of action as it helped to avoid being constantly, and unceremoniously, chucked into his cupboard. He had become more emboldened since discovering he was a wizard, but old habits, like Devil's Snare, maintained an insidious grip.

Snape snorted derisively. "For days you subjected me to the wretched sound of your voice, reading, and mangling, I might add, the majority of the content of many of my favorite books, yet you can't manage to scratch out a sentence or two to let your friends know that you're all right?"

Harry shifted, uncomfortable. He was being chastised by _Snape_ for being inconsiderate?

Snape continued. "While you've always been irrationally self-centered –"

"You got a lot of nerve! I'm not being self-centered!"

"Okay, 'self-centered' is offensive, but irrational is still on the table, yes?"

Harry jumped to his feet, incensed. "I don't know why I come here!"

"That makes two of us!" Snape narrowed his eyes maliciously.

"Harry." It was Galen, looking back and forth between the two dark haired wizards. "I'm glad you're here. It's time we get the professor on his feet. Maybe get you to take a couple steps away from the bed?" Galen said, directing his last words to Snape.

The matching looks of horror on Harry's and Snape's faces, made the healer chuckle, though he masked it with a cough. Then in a serious tone, he said, "Professor, we must get you up and moving. You've been abed for quite some time and this is just the next step to help speed your recovery along."

Galen was right, of course, but when Harry saw Snape's expression flatten with understanding, he empathized. Harry recognized that having to depend on others would take as much of a toll on the man as would the general recovery. He then fixed his own face to reflect a tight resolve, determining that it wouldn't kill him to help out. The sooner Snape was able to look after himself, the better for all involved. Harry nodded at Galen.

The healer clapped his hands together, beaming. "Wonderful! Now, Harry if you could get on his right side, while I take the left."

Harry got into position next to the nightstand. Galen then assisted a thin-lipped Snape in swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

"Now, Professor, Harry and I will – Harry, just put your arm around his waist, Professor put your arm around Harry's shoulder – and we'll gently lift…"

Harry, his eyes on Snape's long, pale feet, eyed them steadily, wanting to ensure that the man was steady and not overcome by vertigo.

"Hold it, Harry," said Galen. "Let's give the Professor a moment to get his bearings."

Harry dared a glance at Snape. Behind his curtain of hair, his face was bloodless and his breathing had picked up speed.

"I'm… fine…" Snape said, then stubbornly shifted his right foot forward, forcing Harry to brace his stance so that Snape could sustain his balance.

The going was achingly slow, and though Galen insisted that Snape needn't press on, Snape was determined to make it to the end of the bed instead of managing the few paltry steps Galen had suggested. Harry thought the idea mad, but as he knew his opinion would not be heeded anyway, he said nothing and settled on being a silent support.

"Brilliant, Professor!" said Galen, once they made it to the end of the bed. Though he hadn't wanted Snape to overdo, he had kept up a relentless stream of encouragement as they progressed.

Snape's responding grunt made Harry's lip quiver. He was glad when Galen directed Snape to lie across the foot of the bed. Galen then used magic to situate the Potions master in the bed properly. Snape, obviously worn out, as he did not protest this treatment, lay back with a grateful sigh. Harry echoed the sentiment as Snape drifted off to sleep.

*WO

**Hospital Wing, Hogwarts, June 1996 (29)**

Enlisted to assist in getting Snape mobile the day before, Harry was to again, spend the next afternoon in the hospital wing attending to the Potions professor with Galen. Madam Pomfrey was otherwise engaged, helping Professor McGonagall prepare for her journey home.

Despite Snape's physical weakness, Harry knew the man was eager to leave the hospital wing. His blatant disregard of Galen's wishes to take only a few steps yesterday demonstrated Snape's willingness to do whatever was necessary to speed along his recovery and subsequent departure.

His silent contempt at having to lean on Harry just to make the short circuit from the night stand to the end of the bed had not been lost on the boy, either. He had been equally apprehensive, but the trek had been managed without any mishap. Harry imagined making it to the ward's entrance would be the man's focus for today's session.

Nearing the hospital entrance, Harry heard raised voices. He pushed one of the doors open and was stunned at the sight of Snape and Dumbledore arguing heatedly. Snape was in bed, but sitting up, his body leaning angrily toward Dumbledore, his eyes alight with what Harry could only think of as a righteous fury. Harry quickly let the door fall closed, but pressed his ear to it.

"Had I sent you to St. Mungo's, Voldemort would have had you killed!"

"Death at the hand of a creature I know to be detestable would have been preferable to being allowed to waste away like some disposable mascot!" Snape said.

Dumbledore gasped. "Severus, it is my lot to make difficult, sometimes, life or death decisions. Do not pretend I made that decision lightly!"

Snape was slow to respond, and his voice was soft, tinged with something like – hurt. "Yes, and I shall have to believe that, won't I? Otherwise I might be left with the idea that my usefulness to the Order outweighed the importance of my survival."

Dumbledore was silent so long, Harry wondered if he had gone. He nudged the door open, providing enough of a gap to peek through. Snape was on his feet, standing – rather unsteadily – with the shaking fingers of his right hand tented on the bed for balance.

Though Harry had understood Dumbledore's fearful reluctance to seek help for Snape, he had not considered how Snape would feel about it. While he hadn't reckoned on Dumbledore even sharing that bit of information, it made an archaic, almost knightly sort of sense when he thought about it.

Having witnessed their many interactions over the years, Harry recognized that there existed between the two wizards, an implicit air of truth – making no allowances for deception on either's behalf. Harry imagined that had Dumbledore withheld his decision from Snape, it would have been a dishonorable act, a forsaking of that truth. Though he had long puzzled over Dumbledore's blind trust of Snape, he now suspected it had more to do with that well observed pact between the two than any trivial demonstration of loyalty such as a Dark Mark.

"Harry?" It was Dumbledore. Harry froze, and considered letting the door fall closed and running away, but when Snape spoke, he realized he'd dithered too long.

"_Potter!_"

Gulping at Snape's tone, Harry warily pushed the door open and stepped inside. While Snape's face was pale and his stance precarious, Dumbledore, looking old, sad, and weary, seemed the one to have suffered the worse for wear.

"Harry, please leave us," Dumbledore said.

Not really wanting to leave just then, Harry was relieved when Galen strolled up.

"Headmaster," he said, nodding. As he rounded the curtain, his eyes widened at the sight of Snape, standing. "Professor, you mustn't be out of bed without assistance!"

"Be that as it may, I refuse to stay here a moment longer," Snape informed the healer.

"But, I really must insist –"

Snape turned his eyes from Dumbledore to Galen, stating plainly and dangerously, "I shall be returning to my quarters."

"Professor –"

"No, Galen," Dumbledore interrupted. "Let him go."

Snape turned, clumsily, to reach for his wand, which had been resting on the bedside table ever since his arrival in the hospital wing.

"Harry," Galen said, "please, assist the professor to his quarters while I have a word with the headmaster."

"I don't need anyone's bloody assistance, Brady," Snape snapped when Harry started forward. "I'll manage on my own!"

With that, he began to inch delicately around the bed. His loathing at appearing weak was obvious in the clumsy death grip he had on the bed's mattress. With a stubborn focus, he shuffled past Dumbledore and Galen, who had created a wide berth for him to easily maneuver past.

Eyeing Snape's progress, Harry had no doubt the man was determined to proceed on his own, but before long, he would need human support. After running out of bed to lean on, Snape stopped. Red-faced and obviously irritated at the loss of his crutch, he began to teeter to the side. Like a shot, Harry was beside him. Dumbledore had shifted forward as well, but he stopped short, seeming to think better of touching Snape.

With a low growl and a frosty glare, Snape reluctantly clasped the arm Harry offered. Gingerly, they made their way to the exit. Once there, Harry cast a glance back at Dumbledore to see him speaking quite animatedly to Galen, gesturing in Harry and Snape's direction. He tore his gaze away from them in order to push open the door.

As soon as the door closed behind them, Snape stopped moving. His breathing had grown harsher and quicker, but despite his weakened state, he was gripping Harry's arm tight enough to bruise. When Snape slumped forward, Harry had to grasp him awkwardly about the waist to keep him from collapsing to the ground. As if in response to an unspoken summons, Madam Pomfrey rounded the corner, nearly knocking them over.

"Mr. Potter… Professor Snape!" she gasped.

"Ma'am, he wants to return to his quarters, but I need help to get him there," Harry said.

"Certainly not! He should be in bed! Come!"

"No, Poppy," Snape breathed. He reached to weakly clasp her arm.

"Severus, surely Healer Brady hasn't –"

"I want to go to my quarters," he gasped, "_please!_"

Harry swallowed at the sound of Snape's softly uttered plea. Pomfrey simply gazed at Snape, worried. But Snape's eyes were directed toward the floor as he gulped in shallow breaths, too weak to lift his head. She turned her eyes to Harry, as though mentally debating whether or not to return Snape to the ward.

"Could you conjure a stretcher or something?" Harry said, deciding for her. He readjusted his arms around Snape's thin waist when the man seemed to flag even more.

Pomfrey quickly conjured a stretcher and helped Harry ease Snape onto it. As if against her better judgment, she muttered, "_Mobilicorpus,_" then directed the stretcher down toward the dungeons with Harry at Snape's other side.

*WO

**Snape's Quarters, Hogwarts, June 1996**

Inside Snape's rooms, Harry tried not to be obvious in his curiosity, but it was difficult. The quarters were deceptively spacious, made so by the cream colored limestone walls. Harry had expected the drab, dark gray of the stones populating the rest of Hogwarts' dungeons, thinking them befitting of Snape's personality, but he was pleasantly surprised at the brightness of the rooms.

They proceeded down an entry hall, which angled slightly to the right, and continued on past the sitting room to a bedroom set across from a heavy oak door. While Madam Pomfrey scanned Snape with her wand, Harry watched from the other side of the bed.

"Mr. Potter, I need you to remain with Professor Snape while I go fetch some potions from my office. I'll only be a moment." She quickly strode out of the room and a moment later, Harry heard the _woosh_ of the Floo in Snape's sitting room.

He sighed and looked around until he spotted a chair next to bathroom's entrance. Instead of dragging it over, he lifted it up, moving it closer to Snape's bedside to sit and wait for the nurse's return.

Ten minutes later, she reappeared with Galen. Snape had fallen asleep as soon as he had been leveled into his bed, but Galen needed him awake to effectively examine him. Harry stood to allow the healer on that side of the bed while Pomfrey flanked the other side.

"Professor?" Galen said loudly. "Professor Snape?"

Harry peered around Galen's shoulder to see Snape slowly open his eyes, looking dazed.

"Mr. Potter?" Harry looked up. Madam Pomfrey's raised eyebrows indicated that she wanted him to leave.

Annoyed, Harry wondered why he should have to go. He'd seen Snape in much worse shape! He voiced his irritation with a loud sigh and started from the room, but Galen stopped him.

"No, Harry. You should be here for this."

Surprised, Harry turned to look at the healer, who nodded. Harry cast a cautious glance at Madam Pomfrey whose lips were thinned in disapproval. Nevertheless, he returned to his spot beside Snape's bed to listen attentively when Galen spoke again.

"Both Madam Pomfrey and I will be leaving at the end of the week and you must continue the professor's therapy."

"You're leaving, too?" Harry asked Pomfrey, alarmed. He knew Snape required several more weeks of therapy on his hands, but he had not expected to be doing it alone!

"Yes, Mr. Potter. My sister was expecting me two weeks after term ended," she said. "But, there's plenty of summer left to enjoy." She patted Snape's arm, quickly clasping his fingers in her hand as she cleared her throat.

"Harry," Galen said. "You will need to be diligent."

Harry nodded, feeling the weight of responsibility starting to drag him under. It wasn't so much the responsibility of performing therapy that distressed him; it was the responsibility of performing therapy on Snape – alone!

"Will I have to give him any potions or anything?" Harry asked, fighting the urge to back out of the room.

"No, he is fully capable of taking potions as needed."

"How long will he have to stay in bed?"

"Well, depending on how he –" Galen began.

"Stop talking about me as though I'm not present in the room!" Snape said, black eyes flashing angrily. "Potter, you need not show up here to do anything! I'm bloody well able to exercise my own hands!"

"Professor, Harry _has_ been doing it for the past few weeks and is well –"

"I don't need him hovering about like some four-eyed nursemaid!"

"Well, it's not like I don't have anything better to do!" Harry shot back.

"Oh, do go back to whatever tiresome thing you were doing! I can assure you that your assistance is wholly unnecessary!"

"Professor –" Galen endeavored.

"No! I don't need him here; moreover I don't _want_ him here!" Snape's thin face was pale with fury, his lips curled into a petulant snarl.

Harry wound his hands into tight fists and clenched his jaw before saying, "You won't have to worry about me showing up here – ever!" He turned on his heel and stalked to the door, but before leaving he threw back, "And as for the tiresome thing I was doing? I was sitting with _you_ in that bloody hospital wing!" Then he stormed out, slamming the door as he made his way up out of the dungeons.

Though he would never dare to profess caring about or even liking Snape, Harry had, over the past several weeks, developed a grudging compassion and respect for the man. Snape had an iron will, and had suffered and survived something so heinous, so unlike anything Harry had ever witnessed, he couldn't help but to feel something. Having lived through his own close calls with Voldemort, Harry related with the man on that level, realizing it was an exclusive and poorly populated fraternity to which they both belonged.

It was that more than Hagrid's and Dumbledore's assurances of Snape's true role for the side of light which convinced Harry of the truth. He'd spent hours at Snape's beside, puzzling over how the man had done it, how he had managed to survive that level of torture – how had he managed to survive the past year – with every moment spent deceiving Voldemort under _threat _of that kind of torture.

Halfway through his journey across the grounds, Harry saw Fang galloping toward him. The sight of the gangly dog ascending the lawn, tongue lolling giddily from his mouth creating the illusion that he was grinning lifted Harry out of his funk.

"Hey, boy," said Harry, smiling. Fang responded by jumping up to rest his paws on Harry's waist and pushing, succeeding in knocking him to the ground. Harry grunted in surprise and tried to push the dog off, but it proved a poor defense against Fang's rambunctious embrace. Harry laughed when the boarhound moved off him to sit down, holding out a paw, which he took, pulling up to a sitting position.

"We've got to find a greeting that doesn't always end up with me on the ground…" Harry muttered, reaching to scratch the dog's neck. Immediately, Fang flopped onto the ground, exposing his belly in hopeful preparation of an intense scratching session. Harry shook his head, amused, and simply patted the dog's chest.

"Harry."

Harry turned and Fang was on his feet in an instant, standing slightly in front of him.

"Galen." Harry stood up, carelessly brushing off stray blades of grass.

"Madam Pomfrey and I finally managed to calm down Professor Snape." Harry shrugged unconcernedly. "I know it will be difficult –"

Harry raised his eyebrows. Galen had only had to deal with Snape conscious and ill for a few days; Harry had dealt with him in great health for the past five years!

Galen sighed. "I know this will be difficult for you both, but Harry, it is essential he receive therapy or he _will _lose what little dexterity he has. I explained this to him and he finally... agreed to accept your help."

Harry gawked at him. "You didn't ask me if_ I_ was willing to do it!"

"Of course," Galen said, tiredly, obviously wrung out from going toe to toe with Snape. "_Would_ you be willing to assist Professor Snape?"

Harry rolled his eyes, aggravated. He looked down at Fang who was looking back up at him. He didn't like the chastising look the dog was giving him. Frowning, Harry gave a reluctant sigh and said, "Fine." Fang barked. "Dumb dog."

Galen exhaled with relief and clapped Harry happily on the shoulder. "Brilliant, Harry."

"When are you leaving?"

"Sunday. That way we'll have more time to work with him together, get you use to one another."

"Fantastic," Harry mumbled.

Galen grinned. "It'll be fine, you'll see."

*WO

_Author's note: _I forgot to add this at the end of Chapter 4. My apologies.

*_Sangre Libre_ – blood free

*Thrombus Escuro – dark blood clot

Just want to clarify my little attempt at creating a health issue and its remedy.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: JK Rowling's characters.

**Snape's Quarters, Hogwarts, July 1996 (06)**

In the week since leaving the hospital wing, Snape worked relentlessly, determined, almost, desperate to make a quick recovery. Against Galen's counsel, the Potions master judged himself well enough to walk about the dungeons, unaided. His first foray had led to Harry, Madam Pomfrey, and Galen searching frantically for him when Dobby reported he wasn't in his quarters for his evening meal. Madam Pomfrey had found him, pale and near unconscious, near the labyrinth of corridors leading to the Slytherin common room. Healthy, he could have made the trip without incident in less than five minutes; in his current condition, he may as well have attempted a jog to Hogsmeade.

As the week progressed, though, he could be spotted on the grounds, not quite stalking, but striding at a much more fluid pace than he had managed in the hospital ward. Sometimes he was accompanied by Fang. Though Dumbledore, Galen, and Madam Pomfrey had done their best to discourage him from venturing so far from the castle, Snape ignored them, either fearlessly or recklessly set to do as he pleased. Harry imagined it was a bit of both; he imagined Snape's tenacity was an unequivocal renunciation of the horror he had experienced just outside the school's gates.

The weekend arrived and Harry contemplated what Snape's mood would be as he trudged down to the dungeons. During the week, the therapy sessions had gone relatively well: Snape had readily accepted Harry's presence much as he would have accepted another round of torture from Voldemort. When he could, Harry spent time before the sessions playing with Fang, hoping to relieve some anxiety before heading to the dungeons. He hadn't had time today, so he tried to mentally brace for the typically cold reception he always received upon entering Snape's sitting room.

It began with those disdainful black eyes, slick as oil, tracking his movements, then the top lip would curl impossibly, anticipating what was to follow: Harry determinedly directing Snape in his exercises as Galen observed, only intervening to correct Harry or make a suggestion as Snape improved.

Snape had charmed the door to allow Harry entrance, but only after a severe hen-pecking from Madam Pomfrey. Harry hadn't cared one way or the other, but it _was_ more convenient to be let in under his own steam rather than having to wait for Snape to open it. Before instating the charm Harry was sure Snape had often purposely left him languishing outside for five, sometimes ten minutes to irritate him – but he couldn't prove it.

"Harry Potter."

The large oak door glided open and Harry stepped into the cool entry hall. He ventured into the sitting room where Snape was seated in the chocolate colored leather chair near the fireplace.

"Professor," Harry said, with a nod. "Where's Galen?"

Lifting his chin, Snape glared at Harry a moment, before saying, "For some pathetically dimwitted reason, he believes you to be capable of starting on your own. He assured me he would arrive shortly."

"Oh," Harry said, disheartened. _May as well get used to it, _he thought, as Galen was leaving the next day.

Trying to disguise how uncomfortable Snape's staring made him, Harry headed to the bookshelf in the small alcove next to the fireplace. He removed the Pincherpin exerciser Galen had ordered from St. Mungo's, then shoved the ottoman over to sit before Snape, their knees nearly touching. Preparing for the tricky part, he inhaled, and set the wooden box on the floor.

Before each session, Harry had to gently massage Snape's hands and rotate his wrists in preparation for the exercises as well as after to relax them. Snape had never complained verbally of the discomfort that Harry knew he was feeling, yet it sometimes manifested in a grudging grimace or a slight jerk of the man's arm.

The massages had been an easy process when Snape was unconscious, but since he had awakened Galen had taken them over, much to Harry's relief. This was to be Harry's first time doing it while Snape was awake and he was extremely nervous.

"Well, shall we get started?" he asked, trying to sound as if he wasn't bothered in the least by the hair-raising glare Snape continued to launch at him.

Shaking slightly, Harry took Snape's right hand in his. Then, focusing on the motion of pushing Snape's sleeve up, Harry forced himself to relax. As he had done countless times before, he began with making gentle circling motions with his thumbs, moving up Snape's hand, massaging each long finger, gently straightening them as he went. He did it with Snape's palm facing down, then once more with it facing up. After finishing with the right one, he repeated the process on the left hand.

When the bandages had first been removed from Snape's hands and left forearm, Harry had marveled that the Dark Mark was no longer there. He had seen it only once – that night in the hospital wing when Dumbledore was trying to talk sense into Fudge. He wondered if Snape was as fascinated by the missing Mark as he was. Pomfrey, Dumbledore, and Brady had never mentioned it, so Harry left it alone, as well.

Mimicking what he had seen Galen do upon completing the massages Harry looked up and asked, "Professor, are you feeling any pain? Any twinges, aches or mild discomfort?" Snape looked at Harry with such a blank expression, Harry wondered if he had heard him. "Sir?"

"No," Snape managed, clearing his throat.

"You're… sure?" asked Harry, doubt threatening to overwhelm him. Where was Galen? He couldn't do this! He had obviously hurt Snape, but the man was too proud to say so.

"Yes, Potter," Snape ground out. "I've told you, I'm fine."

"Okay... _sorry_." Harry exhaled loudly and reached for the Pincherpin box.

"If it so irritates you to be here, you needn't stay, nor return once you leave!" Harry looked up. Snape looked furious, but Harry thought he saw a flash of disappointment in his eyes, as well.

"No, sir, I'm_ fine. _Okay," Harry continued, determinedly, "let's begin with the easiest pin, the tan one, and work our way up to the green one for today."

Sneering, Snape reached for the tan colored pin, which, like the other seven, resembled oversized Muggle clothes pins. He boldly squeezed it, freeing it from the rod sticking up from the middle of the back of the lap-sized box. Holding it open, he easily clamped it on to the first rod in the box.

"Great, now the yellow one, sir." Harry focused on Snape's hands, looking for any sign of a tremor or strain as the tension difficulty increased with each pin.

Snape continued grasping pins until he had progressed from yellow to red and then green. Green was where Harry wanted him to stop, but Snape rashly proceeded to the more difficult blue, and then black. Finally, Harry pulled the box away when Snape used both hands to hold the black pin open.

"Brilliant, Professor!" Harry was unable to suppress a proud grin.

After setting the box on the floor, Harry took Snape's hands in his to repeat the earlier massaging on them. When he finished, he returned the box to its shelf, then turned back to find Snape standing as well, looking down at his hands, gingerly flexing them.

Harry thought they looked ten times better than when he and Galen had begun the therapy sessions. The healer had been conscientious about using a potion specifically for traumatic burns which was effective at not only healing the burn, but tempering scarring as well.

Snape's hands now looked much as they had before. It was only upon close inspection that one would notice the crisscrossing lines populating the palms of his hands. While Snape's left forearm still bore a substantial scar, Harry found the rubbery, puckered flesh strangely beautiful, believing it a dramatic improvement over Voldemort's stain.

"Do you need anything before I go?" Harry asked, thrusting his hands into his pockets.

"No, Potter, I don't," Snape said, his tone as stiff as his stance.

Harry nodded, then left.

*WO

After the session, Harry determined to reward himself with a well-deserved flight around the Quidditch pitch on his Firebolt. On his way outside, he encountered Dumbledore in the Entrance Hall.

"Ah, Harry," he said, "Might I have a moment of your time?"

"Sure," Harry said, hoping Dumbledore truly meant 'a moment.' He was anxious to get into the air. Sliding his broom from around his shoulders, he gripped it in his left hand as they continued outside.

"How are your sessions progressing with Professor Snape?"

"Oh, great! I just finished doing one by myself," Harry said, surprised at the prideful tone in his voice.

Dumbledore smiled down at him, but it was automatic, wooden. "That's wonderful to hear, Harry, truly wonderful."

"Galen was supposed to be there, but I think he's trying to get us used to working by ourselves."

"Yes, he mentioned as much to me..." Dumbledore was silent for a moment as they traversed near the lake. "Harry, something has happened that you need to know."

Harry thrust a hand into his jeans pocket to grasp his mother's medallion. These days, dreading most anything Dumbledore had to say had become habit.

"The night you were rescued, you were being guarded by two Order members, Nymphadora Tonks and Sturgis Podmore."

Stunned, Harry said, "But, they weren't with –"

"They were killed before the others arrived."

"Tonks is _dead_?"

"Yes."

"Wh-why are you just now telling me this? Why didn't Remus –" Harry gasped. "That's why he looked so… He didn't seem like himself. Everyone was acting odd…"

As his thoughts returned to that night, he recalled Remus shouting the first word of the Killing Curse; Mr. Weasley's face, pale and worried; and Kingsley, stiffly subdued, his typically smooth, cool grace, vanished. Harry had attributed their behavior to the stress of the rescue.

Dumbledore sighed deeply. The lines in his face deepened with each breath, aging him to the point Harry wondered about the old wizard's health.

"You will recall, Harry, the night you arrived, Remus attended a meeting."

"Yeah, I remem –"

Suddenly, Harry thought, _Bad news isn't supposed to come before other bad news, is it?_ _Bad news first, good news second, right? _Yet, he knew nothing good was forthcoming.

"What's happened to him?"

"Harry –"

"WHERE'S REMUS?"

"He is… he's dead."

Stepping back in disbelief, Harry tripped over his feet and fell to the ground. His head was moving. _No, no, no. That can't be right._

Remus was the last. He was the only one who could tell Harry – after all this madness was over – stories about his parents, about Sirius. Maybe he could even have filled in where Sirius could not – like family, but, now…

"Why did you let him go?" Harry yelled.

"Harry, Remus was well aware of the dangers –" Dumbledore extended his hand to help Harry up.

"You could have forbid him! Y-you could have kept him here!" Harry scooted farther away, out of Dumbledore's reach, then scrambled to his feet.

"Harry, these are difficult times. Remus was doing his duty –"

"His _duty_? Just like Snape, huh?" Harry snarled. "He was just doing his _duty_, and look at him!"

"There is not a member of the Order who does not know what that commitment means, Harry," Dumbledore said.

That wasn't good enough! That lame reasoning was not near good enough, just like the Order wasn't good enough to fulfill its lofty goals of protecting those under threat from Voldemort! How could they when they couldn't even look out for their own?

"It's pointless if you don't even try to keep it together, keep everyone safe…" Harry said, angry.

"Harry, the objective of the Order is to combat the rising darkness, not cower as it overwhelms us. Every member is subject to capture, torture, even death, yet everyone accepts this willingly, hoping to contribute, to make a difference," Dumbledore said softly. "Nymphadora, Sturgis, Remus, and Severus all acknowledged and accepted the consequences, Harry. Nothing was forced upon them. Sirius under –"

Harry moaned, and clutched his stomach. _Why did he have to mention Sirius? _He backed away when Dumbledore reached for him, again.

"No, no, no, no, no! Get away from me!" Harry screamed as he fled back to the castle.

*WO

**Snape's Quarters, Hogwarts, July 1996 (06)**

"Severus, thank you for seeing me."

Snape stood aside to allow Dumbledore into his quarters. Trailing him into the sitting room, Snape carelessly gestured for the elder wizard to take a seat. He then sat as well, offering up no refreshment.

"The Order has lost three members over the past month, the most recent one, last night," Dumbledore said.

Snape arched an eyebrow. "Three?"

"In Surrey, Nymphadora Tonks and Sturgis Podmore were ambushed by Death Eaters dispatched to collect Harry."

"And last night?" Snape had a sinking feeling.

"Remus Lupin," said Dumbledore, with a tone of regret. Snape said nothing, but a muscle jumped in his jaw. "He was trying to infiltrate Greyback's ranks. We had information proving it useless to appeal to them, but, he had become careless, what with Nymphadora –"

"Nymphadora?" Snape scowled.

"Yes, Severus, they had… developed a relationship."

Snape scoffed, appalled. "That is patently ridiculous! No wonder he was discovered! Why didn't you stop him? You knew he was not emotion –" He stopped.

While other members of the Order seemed to relish wallowing in their anger, fear, hate, and in Remus' case, love, Snape had long tempered his emotions with cold stoicism. In war, duty superseded grief. Having just lost a loved one mattered little in the heat of battle, and as evidenced by Remus, unbridled emotion could result in certain death. Defense against the likes of Voldemort required ruthless cunning, restrained bravery, and heartbreaking sacrifice many times over. Snape had learned his lesson; Lupin, obviously, had not.

"I take it you've told Potter?"

Dumbledore shifted in his chair. "Yes."

"Where is the boy now?"

"Gryffindor Tower… I believe."

Snape frowned. "You didn't go check on him?"

"Severus, he has just received a terrible shock. I did not want to impose –"

Snape shot to his feet. Growling exasperatedly, he swept out of the room, slamming the door on his way out.

Minutes later, he stalked into the Gryffindor common room to find Harry lying on one of the sofas, staring blankly at the fireplace looking as animated as a scarecrow.

"Potter?" Harry flinched at the harsh sound, but did not otherwise react. Snape sat down opposite him on the coffee table. "Potter…" he repeated.

"What do you want?" Harry said, still captivated by the fireplace's centuries old masonry. "Come to gloat? Glad the last of your enemies is dead?"

"I can assure you I have enemies to spare."

Harry slowly turned his head to take in Snape's grave expression and chuckled nastily. "No doubt... Did your puppet master send you up here? If so, you're wasting your time."

Snape jerked, as if he itched to slap Harry. Instead he said, teeth clenched, "I was not _sent_ anywhere. I thought it wise to check on you after learning about Lupin. The Pavlovian satisfaction you get from blaming yourself for actions which haven't a thing to do with you is appalling and pathetic!"

Harry snorted loudly. "Pathet – What do you know about it? You have no bloody clue what I been through!"

"Oh, please do see fit to enlighten me!"

Sick of Snape's trite attitude, Harry angrily swung his feet to the floor and sat up.

"I don't have to explain myself to anyone – especially you! So just run along, tell Dumbledore... whatever, I don't care, just get out of my face!"

"Other addle-minded adults may allow you to speak to them any way you please, but you _shall _address me with respect!" Snape spat.

At that moment Harry elected Snape the perfect target for his broiling rage. Using his old hatred as a divining rod to pinpoint every wrong thing the man had ever said and done, Harry submerged himself in bitter memories: unwarranted punishments in Potions class; failed Occlumency lessons; Remus resigning from his teaching post; the never-ending, vicious disparagements of his father, the other Marauders, Hermione, Neville, Ron and every other student Snape encountered; Sirius's death – hell, why not include that disastrous date with Cho Chang?

"Had you done anything worthy to deserve my respect, maybe I'd feel the need to address you with it."

Harry watched Snape's face drain of blood and felt a tingling satisfaction for having properly and thoroughly insulted the man.

Feeling seconds away from becoming an inmate in Azkaban, Snape tried something novel: he closed his eyes and counted to ten. He then counted to ten, again, desperate to relieve himself of the urge to throttle Harry until he couldn't lift his arms. When he opened his eyes, Harry was looking at him, a strange look of wonder on his face.

"Why?" Harry said. His burning anger had been oddly supplanted by honest puzzlement.

"What?" Snape snapped.

"Why are you still alive, while everyone who ever cared about me is dead?"

A suffocating silence ruled the room for several minutes as Harry sat staring at Snape as though trying to memorize him. Snape swallowed, loudly, discomfited, and uncommonly speechless.

"I'm still alive, but the Dursleys are dead…" Harry said, frowning.

Snape frowned, too. "The Dark Lord takes no prisoners, Potter. The death of your family was simply... wickedness."

"And, and… S – Cedric, my mum, my dad, and y-you…" said Harry, as if he hadn't heard.

"None of those were your fault! The Diggory boy's death was more senselessness. You know he was not the tar –"

"I forced him to take the cup with me."

"What?"

"I forced him. We helped each other out in that maze... I saved him from Viktor, and at the end he saved me from a giant spider… The cup was right there, but he didn't want to take it, said I deserved it, so I-I suggested we take it together."

"Potter, Diggory was of age and knew what he was doing." Snape sighed at Harry's determinedly tortured expression. "I've read your essays and am quite familiar with your inability to effectively debate the importance of using moonstone instead of monkshood to brew a proper Draught of Peace, thus I seriously doubt that your words compelled him into any action he hadn't already considered. He was surely as eager as _you _to get the cup!"

Harry scowled. "He was, but you don't have to say it like that – like he was greedy or something!"

Snape snapped, exasperated, "I'm not faulting the boy; I'm simply saying that your use of the word 'force' is self-serving hyperbole!"

Harry looked at him, confused.

"Did you threaten him with your wand? Your fists? Threaten to hex his father once you both made it out of the maze?" Harry shook his head, appalled. "Then, Diggory did exactly as he wanted!" Harry shook his head again. "_Why_ do persist in this self-recrimination? What do you get out of it?"

Harry opened his mouth to retort, eager to dismiss Snape's psycho-rubbish talk, thinking him nearly as bad as Dumbledore, but, he stared at the man blankly, seriously considering the question. What _did_ he get out of it?

Death and pain, as dark and foreboding as they were for some, were for Harry, tangibly emotional reminders of the job he ultimately had to do.

"I need it," he blurted out. Snape regarded him, brows knitted. "Righteous fury," Harry said, a humorless smile lilting the side of his mouth as he recalled Snape's expression while arguing with Dumbledore in the hospital wing. "Without it, I'm dead… and Voldemort has free reign."

Snape inhaled sharply as the perpetually green brilliance of Harry's eyes faded, leaving a dull, disturbing nothingness. He had to clasp his hands together to stop himself from shaking the boy until mischievousness returned, until anger, sadness, joy, _anything_ returned.

"Maybe it's good that Remus is dead," Harry said. The chilling, trance-like tone of his voice unnerved Snape further. "I'd have wanted to depend on him for something. This way – I'll be alone, like always, because no one's going to help me finish off Voldemort… if I even can. Yeah, it's probably best that he's dead… Dead like Si –" Harry stopped.

"Potter! Stop this nonsense! You are not alone!"

At that, Harry broke.

"Shut UP! Why are you here, anyway? Just leave me alone. LEAVE ME ALONE!" he screamed.

The last thing Harry heard as he bolted up the stairs to his dorm was Snape murmuring and a _woosh_ from the fireplace.

*WO

**The Black Lake, Hogwarts, July 1996 (14)**

Though the sun shone warmly, Harry sat shivering. Having gratefully avoided the other inhabitants of the castle all week, he had finally ventured outside to sit beside the lake, shaded by the old oak.

It seemed to sense the grief radiating off him in palpable waves. Low-hanging leaves, rustled by a stray breeze, caressed his cheek softly, causing him to shiver even more. He gazed out emptily at the lake's sparkling waves as they gently lapped at the shore, no doubt set in motion by the giant squid.

He was dreaming again. After weeks of dreamless sleep, he now dreamed of Sirius regularly. The floodgates of his unexpressed grief had burst at the news of Remus' death, overwhelming him with hopelessness. Harry was reminded that when Sirius died, so had his own hopes of having a parent, a home, and a respite from being the Boy Who Lived.

Regardless, life carried on. Food arrived in the Tower three times daily, courtesy of Dobby, though Harry rarely partook of it. He'd similarly refused sleeping potions pressed on him by Snape and Madam Pomfrey. After a relentless assault for three straight days, they both finally granted Harry's wish after he screamed himself hoarse demanding that they 'leave me alone, just leave me alone!' It seemed to be his mantra of late.

"Potter."

Harry started, his brooding idleness destroyed. He blinked rapidly to rehydrate his eyes, dry from long bouts of staring at nothing. He then turned slowly, squinting against the sun settled just over his visitor's shoulder. Snape was looking down at him, his lips pulled tightly together, as if he were doing his best not to utter a cutting remark.

"What do you want?" Harry muttered.

His tongue felt thick and useless in his mouth. He had not spoken much to anyone beyond the screaming session. When he did speak his vocabulary rarely extended beyond an emotionless 'yes' or 'no'; that had grown old quickly with Snape. The singular times they had encountered one another, he demanded that Harry talk as he was 'not mute and did still possess the power of speech.'

Snape gave no immediate response to Harry's question, but continued to scrutinize the boy. Tiring of being twisted around and squinting, Harry directed his eyes downward then back toward the lake. That simple movement caused red spots to dance before his eyes and his stomach to churn ominously. Snape appraised him for several more seconds before he spoke.

"Potter, come with me."

"No," Harry said. Though the word was inherently defiant, there was no mistaking the weak, pleading tone in his voice.

Snape was having none of it. "Potter, you will come with me by your own strength or I will carry you."

Harry heaved a heavy sigh. Too destroyed to argue and not wanting to be carried, he shifted to get to his feet.

Snape's eyes narrowed at the sight of the protruding bones of Harry's spine, exposed in stark relief against the ragged material of the shirt he was wearing. His thin back was riddled with indentions from leaning against the tree as his flimsy t-shirt did little to protect him from the sharp edges of the tree's bark.

Harry finally made it to stand, but immediately reached out to grasp the tree, overcome with a nauseating dizziness. He felt he might fall over, but just as he started to lean, Snape was there. He grasped Harry tightly by the shoulder to steady him, not letting go until Harry jerked free of his hand, indicating that he was settled.

Their progress toward the castle was inhibited as Harry couldn't seem to manage a pace faster than a slow shuffle. Finally, at the stone steps leading to the entrance of the castle, Snape watched Harry lift his feet listlessly over first one step, then the next, until he had ascended four steps. Then he stopped.

"Potter?" Snape stepped up beside Harry to see why he had stopped moving. When Harry began to sway backward, Snape's arms shot out to catch him before he fell.

*WO

Snape swiftly carried Harry's unconscious form up to the hospital wing. Elbowing the swinging door open, he shouted for Madam Pomfrey.

Following the revelation of Remus's death, Harry had stopped performing Snape's therapy sessions. In turn, Madam Pomfrey had agreed to stay on a few more weeks to assist him. Initially, Snape had protested the idea, not wanting her to forgo starting her holidays, but he was now glad she had insisted on staying.

She stuck her head out of her office, eyes growing big at the sight of Snape with Harry in his arms.

"What's happened?"

"He collapsed on the steps outside."

Snape lay Harry's husk-like weight down on the bed Madam Pomfrey directed him to, then moved to stand on the opposite side. Pomfrey immediately scanned Harry to determine if there was more going on other than the obvious lack of food, drink, and rest.

"Watch him," she demanded, heading for her office. As soon as she crossed its threshold, Harry moaned softly, his face scrunched up in a grimace.

"Are you in pain, Potter?" Snape demanded, moving closer.

"No," Harry moaned. Then he screamed. "No! Sirius, no! Get him! He's just… No, Remus, get him – He's not DEAD!"

His hands flew up to his hair and he began yanking furiously at the unruly tresses, grunting with the effort, as if desperate to free his head of every last one. When Snape noticed strands of black within Harry's fists, he grabbed the boy's wrists to stop him as he continued to grapple with his hair.

"Potter!" Snape shouted, taken off guard by the boy's wiry strength. "Potter! Stop this!"

"Professor!" Pomfrey gasped. Holding a tray of potions, she gaped at the scene before her.

"Woman, please!" Snape snarled. "He started having some sort of fit and is now trying to pull his hair out. Either give him a Dreamless Sleep Draught while I hold him, or hold him while_ I_ administer the potion!"

"I'll do it," she sniffed. "He's my patient."

"Then please do make it quick," Snape snapped, his brow shiny with sweat. "He's stronger than he looks!"

It was only after Madam Pomfrey had taken Harry's chin in one hand and dosed him with the other, that Snape was finally able to release Harry. His body slackened immediately, but his face was still a mask of agony, as though his entire being was wracked with pain.

Snape scowled down at the pathetic picture the boy made: hair a mess, face pinched up impossibly, body scrawny beyond belief. Then Harry's lips began to move, forming soundless words.

Snape frowned, thinking, _He should be out._

"He should be out," said Madam Pomfrey, echoing Snape's thought and action.

Harry chose that inopportune moment to moan, "Padfoot, they got him in the place where it's hidden, Professor! Please, sir, you got to –" This was followed by a scream as shrill as a hundred nails on a blackboard. "No – leave him alone! You're k-killing him! They're using the Cruciatus on him! STOP! It's _h_-_hurting_ him!" he screamed.

Then, Harry's body began to writhe and constrict. His hands turned in on themselves as his body curled into a tight ball... Snape stared, mortified, now fully aware of what Harry was dreaming about.

"POPPY!" Snape roared, shocking her from her frozen state as he tried, again, to subdue the boy.

"I-I can't give him another dose! In his weakened state... He hasn't taken a proper meal in days! It will do more harm than good..." She shook her head at the disturbing sight Harry made. He had soiled himself and was howling in agony. Cringing at his shrieking, she said, loudly, "There must be some other way to bring him round..."

Thinking of nothing better to do, and with Pomfrey offering up no useful alternative, Snape began speaking to Harry in a calm voice. For several minutes, he kept up a steady, monotonous recitation, stiffly encouraging Harry to 'quiet down.'

It didn't work. Madam Pomfrey resorted to clapping her hands over her ears, grimacing at Harry's sustained screeching.

"Professor!"

Sighing harshly, Snape pointedly ignored the school nurse. In an unexpectedly soft tone, he began assuring Harry he was all right, he was only dreaming, he was safe at Hogwarts; he even inserted a couple 'Harry's' in lieu of 'Potter.' Shortly, Harry stopped the ear piercing screams in favor of whimpering. And instead of the grotesque constrictions of a moment ago, his body was reduced to sporadic shudders before he slowly stilled.

"That's it," Snape continued in the same low voice, though his face was tense and frowning. "You are only dreaming."

Snape moved to sit on the edge of the bed as his back started to ache from the bent position he was in. He loosened his grip on Harry, but did not let go entirely fearing the young wizard might begin to thrash about once more.

Madam Pomfrey moved forward to touch a cool hand to Harry's forehead. He hitched in a harsh breath.

"In all my time – I've never heard such screaming. It's as if he was being skinned alive! Why would he –"

"How is he, Poppy?" Snape asked, distracting her from her line of questioning, feeling she would soon ask something he was not prepared to answer.

"He's warm, but I don't think he has fever. It's all the thrashing what's done him in." Snape grunted his acknowledgment. "Every year," she said, her voice cracking, "every year there's something for him to go through. It's simply not fair!"

"Life is rarely fair," Snape said, as he took in the boy's anguished face.

Madam Pomfrey reached to smooth Harry's hair back off his forehead. It didn't stay put.

"I think he's calmed down enough to let him go," she said. Expecting Snape to release the boy immediately, she was astounded when he shook his head.

"I'll stay with him," Snape said.

"It's really not necessary. He's all right now." She reached to pat his hand kindly.

"No, I don't want to chance that he'll have another... episode."

"Well, at least let me help you clean him up..."

"Poppy, _please_ – leave it to me. Go." He was determined to maintain a calm tone, but she was trying his patience.

When she still hadn't moved, he turned to look at her. Sensing a shift in his gaze, she gave him a reluctant smile then walked to her office to retrieve her bag. On her way out, she cast one last curious glance at the duo on the bed. Snape still had a tentative hold on Harry, but his eyes were on her.

Snape only released Harry after the doors swung shut. After surveying the boy for a long moment, he stood and shrugged out of his outer robes, folding them over the chair.

Harry lay bathed in sweat, teeth chattering as he shivered. Snape removed his glasses, setting them on the side table before picking him up and carrying him to the ward's showers. There he banished Harry's fouled clothing, and with Harry in his arms, stood beneath the warm jet of water, soaking them both as he scrubbed Harry clean.

Harry remained boneless throughout the whole ordeal, never waking, even as Snape wrapped him in magically warmed towels. Back in the ward Snape laid him on a neighboring bed, then pulled a clean pair of pajamas from the bedside table to dress him. After tucking the covers around him, Snape then turned to banish the mess on the bed Harry had soiled.

Once that was set to rights, Snape distractedly cast a Drying Charm on himself, then resumed his place on the edge of Harry's bed. Harry seemed to sigh with relief at the change, though Snape was certain the boy was oblivious to what had gone on. Eventually, Snape's body reminded him that sitting on the edge of a hospital bed was doing no favors for his recently healed back and ribs. He stood to stretch. Harry, still sleeping, sensed the change and rolled onto his side to face Snape, his brow creased in a frown.

Snape scowled. "Potter, I cannot remain perched on your bedside like some trained owl!"

When Harry snuffled softly, Snape rolled his eyes and transfigured the hospital chair into a more comfortable one. Moving it close to the bed, he eased into it, elegantly crossing one long leg over the other. He clasped his hands together beneath his chin and proceeded to watch Harry, but this didn't seem to satisfy the boy. Whimpering softly, he began to search blindly with his hands, growing more agitated as seconds passed, shuffling his legs back and forth beneath the sheets.

"Potter." Snape leaned forward. "Potter, stop this! You are all right!"

At the sound of Snape's voice, Harry's legs stilled, and the whimpering ceased, but his hands still searched restlessly. Leaning closer, Snape peered at the boy, his hand resting lightly on the edge of the bed. When one of Harry's flailing hands made contact with Snape's, what the young wizard did then took Snape's breath: Harry grasped his hand in a grip that could only be described as – desperate.

Wincing, Snape tried to wrest his hand free, but Harry, having finally found something warm and solid, held tight.

*WO

**Hospital Wing, Hogwarts, July 1996**

Entering the hospital wing, Dumbledore's eyes immediately set upon Harry lying peacefully asleep and Snape sitting in a black leather chair close by. As he drew closer, he saw both Snape and Harry's hands linked and resting on the bed.

Snape twisted his head around upon hearing the door open. Seeing that it was Dumbledore, he tried vainly to free his hand, but Harry simply sighed and increased the intensity of his grip, causing Snape to grimace.

"Stronger than he looks?" asked Dumbledore.

"You have no idea," Snape drawled. "I've been trying to get away for the past hour. I don't know where Poppy has disappeared to," he said, disregarding the fact that it was he who had demanded she leave.

"No doubt she is preparing for her journey home," said Dumbledore, now standing on the other side of Harry's bed. He was gazing down at him, watching the gentle rise and fall of his chest. "Poppy's note said he collapsed as you were entering the castle?"

"Yes. I found him moping down by the lake and instructed him to come back with me. He barely made it to the entrance, and only managed a few steps before he passed out," Snape said, exasperated. "Had he been on his own, he would have cracked his head open on the stone!"

"It is lucky you were there, then."

"Foolish boy! He hasn't eaten a decent meal in days and he refused the sleeping potions Poppy and I tried to give him!" Snape continued, his voice growing louder. "I should have forced it down his throat!"

Snape sounded angry, but the anxiety creasing his sharp features expressed a different truth. Dumbledore regarded both Harry and Snape for a silent moment before speaking.

"He seems rather comfortable with you," he said.

"It is only because he's not conscious," Snape retorted, casting an irritated glance at Harry.

"He has lost so much this year," Dumbledore said. Snape remained silent, but his posture stiffened visibly. Dumbledore sighed. "I told him he could remain here over the summer, but that is looking less and less likely." At Snape's inquiring look, he said, "Rufus Scrimgeour will be coming to Hogwarts."

"What has that to do with Potter remaining here?"

"He has requested an audience with Harry in the hopes of... eliciting his help." Dumbledore's displeasure was laid bare in his tone.

Snape snorted, disgusted. "What could they possibly –" His eyes flashed quickly over Harry's face, lingering on his scar. "Ah, let me guess. The Ministry hopes to restore the shine of its tarnished image with Potter as its shiny, new mantle piece?"

"Precisely. The Minister has been increasingly persistent since discovering Harry was here. As such, he has given me no choice in the matter and will be making an unannounced visit."

Snape snorted again. "'Unannounced?'"

Dumbledore shrugged. "He believes it will be."

Little escaped Dumbledore's attention, and if Scrimgeour believed his visit would be a surprise, that meant Dumbledore had a mole placed within the Minister's circle.

"When?"

"Sunday."

Snape's eyes widened with shock. Sunday was two days away. "What are you going to do?"

"Well, for obvious reasons, Harry has refused to stay at Grimmauld Place. He has also refused the Weasley's invitation to stay with them, fearing he is too much of a danger, but there is no other choice. He will have to go to the Burrow. I have spoken with Arthur and Molly and they have agreed," said Dumbledore.

"He won't stay there," Snape said. "As soon as you make the arrangements known to him, he'll run… He'll run and he'll be at the mercy of the Dark Lord, unprotected!"

Again, Harry sighed, curling his body in on itself, closer around his and Snape's still joined hands. Dumbledore watched his movements then lifted his eyes to the Potions master's face. Snape was watching Harry with his head tilted and his eyes narrowed as if he were translating an Ancient Runes hieroglyph in his head.

"Severus?"

Snape looked up, questioningly.

"Forgive my redundancy, Severus, but Harry seems rather comfortable with you."

Cottoning on to Dumbledore's meaning, Snape growled and shot an angry look at the older – _possibly senile_, Snape thought – wizard.

"You can't be serious, Albus!" he roared. Harry stirred, and Snape quickly turned to see if he had wakened. When Harry slept on, Snape snapped his furious gaze back to Dumbledore. "You can't possibly mean to saddle me with this boy to look after!" he hissed. "No, no! He must go to the Weasley's as you said."

His voice carried a tone of finality and his expression was set in a fierce scowl. He then tried once more to wrest his hand free from Harry's.

"You seem so certain he will disregard my request to stay with the Weasleys," Dumbledore said, a hint of angry frustration in his voice. "What, then would you have me do?"

_Take a flying leap into the Black Lake?_

Speaking with a forced calm, hoping to appeal the Dumbledore's rational side, or at least the side that valued Harry's safety, Snape said, "Headmaster, I believe my time would be better spent working in the Order, considering three members have been lost within the past two months."

"Severus, there is no more important work, in or out of the Order, than keeping Harry safe," Dumbledore said. "And honestly, there is little you can do now that your identity has been compromised. While the Weasleys care for Harry as one of their own, Molly especially, he needs someone who will be able to focus solely on him, without distraction; he needs someone as strong-willed as he, someone who will not coddle him, as he has rather a lot to adjust to. Harry learning to manage his powers is critical, Severus." Dumbledore's piercing gaze indicated he would accept no response save an affirmative one. "Other than myself, you are the only one who can help him."

Snape seethed silently. Aggravated and desperate for a reasonable (different) alternative, he shook his head, unconvinced. Looking down at Harry's chaotic hair, he knew he was not the person for this, especially considering their history. Yet, as obscene as the idea was, Snape saw no other solution either.

*WO

**Hospital Wing, Hogwarts, July 1996**

After sleeping for nearly fourteen hours, Harry woke, desperately thirsty, but also needing to empty his bladder. Slowly, he cracked his eyes open, squinting against the sharp glare of the sun radiating through the windows.

"Potter."

It was the last voice Harry had heard before going to sleep. He turned his head to gaze around as best he could. When Snape placed his glasses in his hands, Harry slipped them on, peering owlishly at his professor's sullen face.

"Thank you," he croaked, then grimaced at how raw and scratchy his throat felt. It felt as if he had been screaming for hours at a World Cup Quidditch match.

"Don't try to talk just yet," Snape said, holding out a potion vial. "Drink this. It will relieve the soreness in your throat."

Harry took the vial, glanced at its pink color and looked back up at Snape.

"C'n drink anythin' jus' yet," he rasped, sheepish.

Snape silently took back the vial, then reached for a bedpan.

Horrified, Harry held up his hands. "C'n make… loo!"

Snape gave a curt nod and said, "The potion shall be here when you return."

Slowly, Harry eased off the bed, fully cognizant of Snape taking in his every move. Despite feeling as weak as a newborn kitten, he braved the walk to the bathroom. It would have been too embarrassing to use a bedpan in front of Snape.

When he returned, he had assumed only the vial would be there, but Snape had remained, too, keeping up his intense inspection of Harry. It was unnerving to be watched like that. Snape only ever looked at his students so intently so as to preempt any disasters in his classroom.

Once Harry was settled back in bed, Snape held out the vial to him. Swallowing its contents, Harry was relieved when his throat's scratchiness disappeared immediately.

"Thank you." Harry passed the empty vial back to Snape. Leaning back on his pillows, he cast surreptitious glances at the man.

"Say what is on your mind, Potter."

"I was just wondering why you're here," Harry said, and then hastily added, "Sir" at Snape's inquiring look.

"Why don't we leave that discussion until after you've eaten," Snape said, turning toward Pomfrey's office.

Harry opened his mouth to argue, but as if Snape had commanded it, Harry's stomach growled loudly. Snape turned and looked at him, his eyebrow sharply arched. Embarrassed, Harry bowed his head and shifted lower beneath his covers as Snape continued on to Pomfrey's office.

When Snape returned, he was levitating a tray weighted with a bowl of steaming porridge, plates of toast, bacon, scrambled eggs, and a cup of tea. He charmed the tray to hover over Harry's lap, then returned to Pomfrey's office. Harry didn't think he'd be able to manage all that food, but his body thought better of it; he ate everything save a slice of toast.

Twenty minutes later, Snape emerged from Pomfrey's office. "How are you feeling?" He eyed the nearly empty tray.

"Better," Harry said. Snape removed the tray to the foot of the bed, where it instantly disappeared with a soft _pop_. "Thank you," said Harry, unsure of where to look. Snape nodded stiffly. "So," Harry said, clearing his throat, "can we discuss whatever it is you wanted to discuss, now?"

"Yes, I suppose we should," Snape replied, oddly hesitant. He pulled the chair he had used up until Harry had finally surrendered his hand – _6 a.m._ – closer to the bed and sat down. He crossed his legs, tented his hands in front of his chest and inhaled deeply.

Harry gazed at him expectantly, if a bit warily.

"The deaths of your relatives," Snape said, "along with the trauma of seeing a school mate killed, witnessing the rebirth of the Dark Lord last year and —" He stopped. Loathing and utter outrage were battling for dominance on Harry's face.

"I know exactly what has happened to me over the past year – over the past _five_ years. _No one_ is more aware of it than me. Just get to the point… sir," said Harry, his voice cold.

"The point, Potter," Snape said, "is that you have recently lost two people to whom you were extremely close, leaving you alone with no one to look after you—"

Harry snorted humorlessly. "I wonder what _that_ would be like? I may have lived with the Dursleys, but I've been taking care of myself for a really long time. So, if this is a way to get me to move into Grimmauld Place or stay with the Weasleys, I WON'T DO IT!"

"Potter! No one is suggesting that you move into your godfather's house or the Weasleys! But, there are circumstances that will not allow you to stay at the castle beyond tomorrow..."

"Tomorrow?" Harry squeaked, wide-eyed, suddenly feeling nothing like the self-sufficient person he had just proclaimed himself to be. "Why can't I stay? Dumbledore said I could stay!"

"The new Minister of Magic desires to meet with you."

"What? Why –" Snape held up his hands, and was surprised when Harry remained silent.

"Dumbledore, quite rightly, refused his request. Nevertheless he has learned that the Minister_ will_ be arriving tomorrow."

"Why does he want to talk to me?"

"He is seeking to improve the Ministry's image," Snape said.

Harry shrugged. "So?"

Snape stared at Harry, nonplussed. "Potter, Fudge and his hacks depleted the Ministry's influence so sufficiently that without a – for lack of a more repulsive word – _mascot_ to rally the wizarding community, the current government will be as woefully inept as the last!"

Harry scowled at the thought of having to leave the castle, but Snape's use of the term 'mascot' reminded him of what the man had said to Dumbledore. He didn't want to be 'disposable', a tool of propaganda for the Ministry.

"Great," Harry said, his shoulder's slumped in defeat. "Where will I go, then?"

"You shall go with me," Snape said shortly. Eyeing Harry closely, he braced for an onslaught, but was shocked to observe a sly smile form at the boy's mouth.

"You're having me on, aren't you?" Harry peered around the ward as if expecting a Muggle camera crew to explode out of the ceiling, sliding easily along rappelling ropes, eager to document the joke and his reaction.

"I assure you, Potter, I am not _having you on_."

Harry sobered instantly at Snape's flinty tone. "B-but… who else is going to be there? And where is 'there'?" He sounded uncertain and suspicious.

"_You_ and _I _shall go to an undisclosed location."

Harry swallowed loudly. "Dumbledore thought this was okay?" After considering Snape's inscrutable expression, he slumped even lower against his pillows before adding, annoyed, "This was his idea..."

"Yes, Potter."

"And you _agreed_?"

"After some thought… yes."

Honestly perplexed, Harry asked, "Why?"

"Potter, what would you suggest happen?" Snape snapped, tired of the endless questions. "You refuse to go the Weasleys based on some heroic, misguided ideal that danger exists only in your presence; you won't hear a word about returning to Grimmauld Place, and you are now unable to remain here at Hogwarts! What option does that leave you?"

"I'm not trying to be heroic or anything else! The fact is people around me die!" Harry shouted, miffed that Snape still clung to his ridiculous, limiting view of him. After taking a breath, he asked, "No one else… could take me?"

"Potter, there_ is_ no one else. Dumbledore has to contend with the Ministry and the Order. Professor McGonagall is recuperating at home. Madam Pomfrey, as you know, shall be visiting family…" Snape sighed exasperatedly. "I realize this is not the ideal situation for you. I do not find it as such, myself."

"I don't mean to sound ungrateful," Harry said in a rush, well aware that Snape would have probably preferred battling mountain trolls to spending the summer minding him. "But, maybe I can just stay hidden here, out of the way... I could stay in the Roo – er, I could find a place to hide out," Harry said, perking up at the idea. "No one would find me!"

"Potter this is not simply about avoiding some Ministry half-wits," Snape said. "The headmaster is concerned about your health. You've been neglecting yourself for over a week now. You've not taken proper meals, you've not been sleeping, and you don't talk to anyone. The headmaster… and I… feel you need to be with someone to ensure that you don't weaken yourself further."

"I…" Harry began, but he couldn't deny the facts. He had been slowly fading away. His appetite had been nonexistent, and sleep had been impossible. "I don't remember what happened after seeing you at the lake," he said instead.

"You collapsed on the steps coming into the castle."

Harry frowned. He didn't remember that, but something else sparked, flickering along the edges of his memory. He had been dreaming about that night in Umbridge's office, and of being at the Ministry. Noticing the confused look on Harry's face, Snape leaned forward, curious.

"What is it, Potter?"

"My dreams… from last night, I was just remembering..."

Snape stiffened. "You should not have been dreaming. The potion Madam Pomfrey gave you should have prevented it. I assume the reason you've not been sleeping is that you dream of what happened at the Ministry?"

Harry nodded absently, but there was something else troublesome about the dreams.

"This was different, though. Some – someone was holding me down – saying I was all right, but I wasn't... I was in a forest, being cur –" He stopped, his head snapping around to look at Snape. "I was dreaming about that night! The night you..."

"Yes," Snape said, trying to maintain a neutral expression. "Your screams would rival any self-respecting soprano," he snorted. "I had to calm you down." Harry raised his eyebrows in surprise. "You were inconsolable!" Snape scowled and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Yeah," Harry said quietly, nervously fingering the sheets. "Sorry 'bout that."

"Potter, no one is judging you. You've been through… quite a lot, this year."

Harry lay back to stare at the ceiling; Snape was right. It had been a horrendous year, beyond horrendous. He'd believed nothing could top his fourth year with Cedric's death and Voldemort's return, but this year had far surpassed all of that with its cruel twists.

His mind was suddenly filled with images of the veil, grossly intermingled with a heap of tangled metal, glowing orbs, and a screaming crowd of Gryffindors. All was caught up in a dizzying maelstrom of evil, controlled by a cackling, red-eyed monster. Suddenly, the huge meal Harry had just eaten turned sour in his stomach. He began to clutch at the sheets, drawing in ragged breaths.

"Potter?" Snape moved close to the bed.

"I'm gonna be sick," Harry gasped.

Snape instantly conjured a pail, thrusting it at the boy, who noisily threw up the contents of his stomach.

"I-I'm sorry." Harry groaned, curling into a ball.

"Don't be absurd," muttered Snape, banishing the pail, oblivious to what was happening.

"_I'm so sorry_," Harry keened, trying to hitch in a breath.

Alarmed, and wanting to avoid a repeat of yesterday, Snape moved to sit on the edge of the bed, preparing himself in case it was necessary to restrain Harry. When Harry began to sob, deep, harsh, unfathomable sobs, Snape recoiled. Then, without warning, Harry leaned forward and threw up again, right into Snape's lap. With a disgusted grimace, Snape instantly spelled the mess away, but remained where he was. Overwrought, Harry continued to sob, his slight body trembling miserably.

Snape sighed and grudgingly shifted from the edge of the bed onto his knee, moving to rest his hand on Harry's back. With his lips so thinned out that he looked as though he were guarding against being force-fed doxy droppings, he stiffly began to pat Harry's back.

The ghost-like pressure of Snape's hand was surprisingly comforting. Without thought, Harry curled his body even more, lowering his head to rest it upon Snape's knee. Snape stiffened, horrified, but Harry was quietly grateful when the man's only movement was to remove his glasses. After several ruminative moments, Snape began to slowly stroke Harry's hair back from his dampened forehead. The gentle movement calmed Harry even more and his sobs soon faded to soft whimpers.

After nearly an hour, in which Harry woke fitfully every few minutes, Snape eased him back onto his pillows, satisfied that he was finally soundly asleep. Standing, he stretched out his back, grimacing as his joints popped like gunshots. Pacing out the kinks, he glanced down and caught sight of Lily's medallion within Harry's grasp.

*WO


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: JK Rowling's characters.

**Gryffindor Tower, Hogwarts July 1996 (13) **

Harry slammed the lid of his trunk closed and contemplated the various scenarios for the rest of the summer: Either Snape would quickly tire of his incompetence and curse him into oblivion – which would hardly be fair since Harry had no idea how to use his powers – or... Well, he'd just be cursed, wouldn't he? Slytherins and 'fair' rarely tangoed.

_Why did I agree to this?_ He wondered, for the umpteenth time.

His watch read _11:20 a.m._ Snape wanted to be gone by noon, but Dumbledore had requested they meet with him in his office at 11:30 a.m. With a sigh, Harry exited the dorm.

Stepping off the spiraling staircase, he paused outside the door having detected Snape's low, rich baritone mixed with Dumbledore's murmurings. Unable to distinguish what was being said after a few moments, he knocked. Just as he reached for the doorknob, the door swept open to reveal a tight-lipped Snape.

"Good morning, Harry," Dumbledore said in a bright tone.

"Morning, Professor," Harry said, stepping inside. "Professor Snape." He cut his eyes at the man in shy acknowledgment as Snape closed the door behind him.

"Potter," Snape replied, as emotionless as ever. It was as if the past two days had not happened. Unperturbed, Harry continued into the room.

"Please, Harry, sit down," Dumbledore said. Snape sat once Harry was seated. "Professor Snape and I were just discussing how and where you should spend the rest of the summer."

"Oh?" said Harry, irritated, detesting being talked about outside his presence. Also, Snape had made is sound as if their destination had already been decided.

"As the depth of your powers is regrettably unclear, I believe it essential that you have the freedom to explore your new abilities, unhindered, thereby enabling you to grasp control of them as quickly as possible," Dumbledore said.

Harry turned to Snape. The tightness around his mouth and the clipped sound of his voice made plain the man's deep disapproval.

"While I will accept that it is of great importance to gain control of your magic rather sooner than later, it should be a controlled, gradual process," Snape said.

Uneasy with the smugly expectant look Dumbledore was regarding him with, Harry knew instantly whose method he preferred. Though he could never be accused of applying controlled and gradual to anything he did, he was willing to give himself over to Snape's way of doing things. But, he did not kid himself; he knew Snape couldn't stand him. Yet, in a mystifying contrast to the man's ill-nature, he had been there for Harry, in one way or another, over the past week.

Following his collapse, it had been Snape's stern face Harry had seen upon waking in the hospital ward and his voice he had heard before slumber.

Also, he had sought Harry out following the revelation of Remus's death. Harry's callous resistance had made for a disastrous encounter, but he had begun to reconsider things after a conversation with Dobby.

"_Harry Potter, you must eat, please!"_

"_I don't want any, Dobby, really." _

_The little elf drew his lips tight across his teeth, seemingly to prevent himself from speaking, but eventually his abiding concern for Harry sacked his sense of duty to another. _

"_Master Snape says Dobby is to make sure Harry Potter eats what Dobby brings and Dobby is to report back to Master Snape if Harry Potter doesn't!" Dobby said in a mad rush. He then began to gnaw on his wrists, much as a dog worried at a flea. _

_Harry thought of the numerous times he had dismissed the brimming trays of food with a lackluster glance in favor of curling up on the sofa to stare sightlessly into the dormant fireplace. Had Snape bounced Dobby off the kitchen walls, or demanded that he roast his hands as punishment when the elf reported that Harry wasn't eating?_

_Harry pulled the elf's thin arms down to his sides and demanded, "Did he hurt you, Dobby?" _

_Dobby shuddered at the angry look on Harry's face. _

"_No, Harry Potter, no! Master Snape was disturbed when I tells him Harry Potter won't eat…" Then whispering, as if afraid of being overheard, Dobby said, "Master Snape is worried… He is worried for Harry Potter…"_

Thus it was with a calculated assuredness that Harry looked Dumbledore in the eye, and said, "I agree with Professor Snape."

"Harry, I do not –" "Headmaster, Pot –" Snape and Dumbledore spoke over one another.

"Headmaster," Snape interjected, "Potter's training will be intense and distractions –"

"Severus, it is vital that I be engaged in what is going on!"

"What's _vital_ is that we be left alone!" Snape countered. "If the boy is indeed as powerful as you believe him to be, it is just as well _no one_ knows our location.

"As you stated the other night, Potter's safety is of the utmost importance. You have charged _me_ with safeguarding him, and I shall do so, to the best of my abilities. I have factored the risks and should anything untoward arise, I have established a foolproof method to alert you."

"Severus –"

With a hiss of impatience, Snape turned to Harry.

"Potter, it is your choice."

Harry held Snape's dark gaze. There was no eager expectation, nor malicious objective present in those black eyes that he could discern, only a soothing, fluid calmness. It struck Harry, that for once his wishes were being weighed, respected even, without condition. The Dursleys had certainly never afforded him options, but nor had many in the wizarding world. Nevertheless, he felt that should he change his mind, should he submit to Dumbledore's wishes – as the old wizard obviously expected – Snape would accept it and things would still be okay.

Comforted by that thought, Harry turned back to Dumbledore and repeated, "I agree with Professor Snape."

At that, Snape was on his feet, Harry joining him.

"Severus!" Dumbledore rose as well, his expression a blend of angry disbelief and helplessness. "This is impossible! If there is an emergency, I _must_ be able to contact you!"

"As I said, I shall contact you should anything happen. Barring that, any other correspondence is unacceptable. No matter how cleverly devised, it could be intercepted," Snape said, then strode to the door. He held it open, allowing Harry to pass through.

Waiting at the top of the moving staircase, Harry heard Snape speak one last word to the headmaster before firmly closing the door.

"Albus."

*WO

When they reached the ground floor, their things were awaiting them near the entrance doors. Harry immediately tucked his broom and Hedwig's cage under his left arm, then grabbed his trunk with his right hand. Snape looked at him as if he had grown a second head.

"What?"

"Do you intend to _drag_ your trunk all the way to the gates?"

"Well, I can't do magic to get them there," Harry pointed out, frowning.

"No… But you have a fully trained wizard in your presence."

Harry flushed. "Oh, yeah. Um, okay."

Reluctantly, he relinquished his Firebolt to Snape's outstretched hand, whereupon Snape muttered, "_Reducio,"_ shrinking it to fit within the trunk.

"It shall be fine, Potter," he said, sighing impatiently at the look of dismay on Harry's face.

Harry shrugged sheepishly, then opened his trunk, adding the broom to its contents. Snape then motioned for Hedwig's cage. Harry suddenly clutched it to his chest.

"I can't leave her here!"

"Potter, she is your owl! She will find you wherever you are, though it might be best if she remain here. Communication shall be near impossible and her appearance is entirely too distinctive."

"Where _are _we going?" Harry asked, grudgingly holding out the cage for Snape to shrink, after which he shrunk Harry's trunk once the cage was inside it. Harry put the small lump in his pocket alongside his mother's medallion.

"It is a rather secluded place where we shall be able to work without fear of discovery," Snape said as he shrunk his own things – a battered trunk and two oversized crates – before slipping them into his robe's pockets.

Harry frowned, dissatisfied with that vague explanation. "But –"

"Potter, we have a schedule to follow!" Snape snapped. Harry rolled his eyes and heaved an annoyed sigh. "In future, a lot less of that will save you from a multitude of chores as there shall not be a house-elf in residence," Snape said. He then began striding toward the great front doors.

As soon as Snape's back was turned, Harry gave an exaggerated roll of his eyes and sneered. He tempered the urge to jab his thumbs in his ears and waggle his fingers for extra effect.

"I think cleaning the windows of our summer residence might make a fine chore to begin with," Snape's voice drifted back to Harry as he pulled the doors open, flooding the entrance with the noon time sun.

Harry sighed (inwardly), and blinked rapidly against the bright light as he trailed Snape outside. Once they reached the bottom of the steps, he whistled loudly. In the distance, a dot-sized figure came streaking away from Hagrid's hut, growing larger as it drew closer. Finally, Fang loped to a stop at Harry's feet, tail wagging impossibly, shaking the dog's lanky frame.

When Harry had made Snape aware of his promise to Hagrid to look after the dog, he had expected a cold, staunch refusal in allowing the dog to accompany them. He had been thunderstruck when Snape had simply nodded his head in acquiescence.

"Let's go, Potter," said Snape, setting off at a swift pace, leaving little doubt that he was, if not fully recovered, nearly there.

Fang gave a booming bark and galloped after the man. Harry had to jog to keep close behind the two long-legged creatures. Once at the gates, Harry expected them to open as they had when he had arrived with Remus and Mr. Weasley. Instead, Snape pulled out a gleaming, gold pocket watch.

Harry had only paid a perfunctory sort of attention in Sinistra's Astronomy class, but, from what he could see of it, the face of the watch bore a constellation, though he was unsure which constellation it was. The watch's cover, unsurprisingly, had what looked like intertwined snakes, twisting about each other, pausing intermittently.

"We have two minutes before the gate's charms are released, allowing us to Apparate. When I tell you, grasp hold of my arm and keep a firm grip on the dog's collar, understand?" Snape quickly glanced at the watch once more.

"Yes, sir."

"You've Apparated before, with Arthur Weasley?"

Harry peeled his eyes off the timepiece to look at Snape. Recalling Remus' haunted face from that night, he lowered his eyes.

"No," he mumbled, "Remus."

Snape sighed softly. "Well, then you know that it is not the most pleasant experience for a novice and probably not for an animal, either, so I suggest you do as I say."

"Yes, sir."

With one more glance at the watch, Snape said, "Grasp my arm, close your eyes, and inhale a deep breath on my count."

Moving closer, Harry closed his eyes, placed his hand around Snape's outstretched arm and held tightly to Fang's collar as Snape counted.

"Three… Two… One."

Harry inhaled deeply just as a familiar, suffocating darkness enveloped him. He gripped Snape's arm and Fang's collar even tighter as they were transported.

*WO

Though knowing what to expect and what to do made this experience much less dreadful than the last time, Harry determined there had to be better modes of travel than Apparition, such as the Knight bus or a trebuchet. Thankful when the natural bright light of the world returned, he stumbled, but was caught about the shoulders before meeting the ground.

"Thanks," he gasped as Snape steadied him before quickly letting go.

Harry shook himself and felt Fang do the same. After a quick inspection of the dog, he let go of his collar. Harry then took in the unfamiliar scenery, struck by the beauty of the rolling terrain being buffeted by a strong, southerly wind. Breathing in deeply, he inhaled the earthy scent of the sea, though he could not see it.

"Where are we?"

"In a moment, Potter," Snape muttered. "We must get off the road." His pace was urgent as he set off through the nearly ankle-high grasses of the lush landscape. Making sure to sniff everything as he went, Fang trotted easily after the man then turned to look at Harry, hanging back until the boy followed.

Soon, they crested a short hill. Harry shivered when he felt a tingle of magic just as they were about to proceed down the hill's slope to a breathtaking valley. Fang sensed it and stopped short, whining.

"Come," said Snape sharply. Reluctantly, Fang obeyed, yelping in surprise as he joined Snape and Harry at the top of the hill. The steep descent led to a small, thatched roof cottage. Snape never slowed until they reached the rectangular red door of the dwelling.

"You felt the magic at the crest of the hill?" Snape asked. Harry nodded. "This area has many abandoned tin mines and to anyone else, Muggle or wizard, this cottage appears as such. No one knows of its existence besides me, and now you. And, no one but you or I are able to cross the boundary."

"Not even the headmaster?"

"Not even him," Snape stated coldly. "It's primarily why he disapproved of my idea and insisted we go to a location of his choosing."

Snape seemed snidely satisfied at having denied Dumbledore information he had so obviously desired, making Harry wonder if the rift between them had been mended or not. To a degree, he understood Snape's attitude because though he placed blame at Scrimgeour's feet for his shameless pursuit of Harry's celebrity, Harry felt equally put out with the headmaster for shuttling him out of Hogwarts instead of making it so that he could stay.

"I could have refused the Minister's request, you know. I'm not a baby," he grumbled.

Snape considered him for a moment before responding. "Yes, but, the Headmaster felt it necessary to avoid confrontation in any case."

"Yeah, right."

"Pardon?"

"Dumbledore didn't want to avoid any confrontation; he just didn't want Scrimgeour finding out about my magic. He probably thought I'd have a fit or something, get upset, use my new powers, then Scrimgeour might rather use me as a weapon instead of the Ministry's poster boy."

Snape crossed his arms over his chest and cleared his throat. "You are, perhaps, somewhat more observant than I give you credit for, Potter."

"Yeah?" Harry said, stunned at what seemed like praise coming from Snape.

"_Yes_," Snape said, bemused at Harry's reaction. After a moment, he asked, "How well do you think you could have handled Minister Scrimgeour bringing up the deaths of your family as a way to entice you into playing a role at the Ministry?"

"Entice me?" Harry scowled. "First of all, it would take more than insincere condolences to 'entice' me. Secondly, I hate that the Dursleys were killed, but they weren't my family so much as people Dumbledore forced to take me in."

"'Forced'?"

Harry looked at Snape and shrugged. "Long story."

"Indeed," Snape responded, intrigued. When Harry failed to volunteer further information, Snape turned toward the cottage's door and said, "Corage is the password to gain entrance. Once you've said it, you need not say it again during your stay here."

"Cor-ahge?" As Harry spoke, the cast iron latch clicked and the door swung open, causing Fang to cower and whimper. Snape reached down to briefly touch the dog on its head; prompted by the touch, Fang preceded Harry inside.

The door opened onto a cozy sitting room, flooded with natural light filtering in through the great mullioned window at the front of the cottage and a smaller version on the side. The room was furnished simply with an oversized sofa, a toffee-colored club chair, an old, tattered arm chair, and a round wooden coffee table atop a large, faded oval rug adorned with four monkeys. Harry watched as Fang quickly sniffed out the area, then settle on a sunny spot beneath the larger window.

Harry pulled his shrunken trunk out of his pocket, placing it on the floor.

"Professor… Could you?" he asked, indicating his tiny trunk.

Snape pulled out his wand and incanted, "_Engorgio._"Harry reached inside it to remove his broom and Hedwig's cage, and Snape enlarged them as well.

"Thank you," Harry said. "Where should I put my stuff?"

"Down the hall, on the right," Snape said, engrossed in walking about, inspecting the condition of the place. Harry continued down the short hall to the room Snape had indicated.

It was small and contained a single bed shoved up under the window, a wardrobe, a desk, chair, and side table. There was a thick burgundy rug along the open side of the bed and it was there Harry placed his things. He looked out the low mullioned windows to the wonderfully wild garden beyond. He climbed onto the bed and pushed the glass open to lean on the windowsill. A fragrant breeze washed over his face as he closed his eyes, inhaling the tantalizingly foreign scents so different from Hogwarts. Hearing a rustling behind him, Harry turned to find Snape leaning against the door frame, arms crossed.

"I see we need also to work on your sensory skills."

"How long you been there?" Harry turned to scoot off the bed.

"Long enough," Snape said, pushing off the wall and straightening up. He looked around the room. "Everything is satisfactory?"

"Yeah, it's great. I really appreciate... you know, you doing this."

Snape gave a clipped nod, obviously uncomfortable with Harry's expressiveness. "Neither of us had much choice."

Harry regarded him strangely. "_You_ did."

Snape hitched an eyebrow, then shrugged. "We do what we must." He turned to leave.

"Sir!"

Snape looked back.

"Um, I've been wondering for a while now... Why didn't I get a warning?" Snape frowned, confused. "From the Ministry – for using underage magic, like last year with the Dementors?"

Snape's frown deepened. "It was powerful magic you performed, Potter – untraceable."

"_Untraceable_?" Harry stared, stunned. "Dumbledore never – Why didn't he tell me that?"

Snape's expression cleared, yet he took a moment before responding. "Fear… I suspect."

"Dumbledore? Scared? Of what?"

"Potter, once you have garnered control of your powers, you _shall _be a formidable wizard, much more so, I believe, than either the Dark Lord or even Dumbledore. And as you grow older, your powers shall only progress, as shall your skill to control them."

Pondering the significance of Snape's words, Harry was overwhelmed with both the possibility and impossibility of living up to them.

Meekly, he asked, "Are _you_ frightened of me?"

"No, I am not," Snape said crisply. "Oh," he said as he again turned to leave, "you might want to get started on the windows now so as to have them done in time for dinner."

*WO

**Soth-ince Den, Lizard Point, Cornwall, July 1996 (14)**

Just as dawn was breaking, Harry was awakened by the mouth-watering smell of frying bacon. He slipped on his glasses and opened his bedroom door to be further assaulted by the aroma wafting down the short hall from the kitchen. Bare feet slapping against the slate flagged floor, he rounded the corner into the cozy eating space. He raised an eyebrow at the sight of Snape, fully dressed, tipping several thick slices of the deliciously fragrant meat onto a plate.

Snape paused to take in Harry's scruffy appearance – particularly the nest-like hair. "Sleep well?"

"I did, thanks," said Harry. Snape went back to loading more food onto the plates as Harry ran a hand through his hair, shuffling his feet back and forth on the chilly floor.

He'd been so tired last night after working most of the afternoon cleaning the windows that he'd gone to bed without dinner. He vaguely recalled being woken by Snape, insisting that he get up to eat, but Harry had grumbled tiredly and shifted to a more comfortable position on the bed. A moment later, he'd felt Snape remove his shoes and cover him with a blanket, leaving him contentedly sated, though he'd eaten nothing.

Without looking up, Snape said, "I'm not bringing your plate to you."

With a white stoneware pitcher in hand, he filled two glasses with an amber liquid. When Snape sat down, Harry did, as well. He reached for his fork and began pricking the eggs on his plate. Taking a bite, he almost moaned aloud.

"These are fantastic!"

"You expected something along the lines of Hagrid's… inventions?"

Harry shivered. "Gods, no! I just never figured you for a… a cook," he replied around a mouthful of the savory, perfectly seasoned and perfectly scrambled eggs. When Snape grimaced, Harry snapped his mouth shut.

"It is merely a matter of seasoning and finesse. One with even the most rudimentary skills could do it," Snape said, nibbling at his toast.

"I know how to cook, but I'm crap at making good eggs. Will you teach me?"

Snape regarded Harry's earnest face for a moment. "Perhaps. Let's see how well you follow my instructions with your training first. Merlin knows you _rarely_ listen in class."

Harry bit back a sarcastic retort, and quickly averted his eyes. He got the notion Snape was baiting him, trying to prove a point, Slytherin-style, but the man's innate maliciousness would prove challenging over time. Despite the horrific things both had experienced since the end of last term, Harry recognized that they would never be friendly, yet he hoped civility might be managed. Having consciously and determinedly broken with Dumbledore to follow this man, Harry did not want to evoke any unpleasantness so early in their stay.

He could make no promises for the days and weeks to come, though.

"No comment?" Snape fairly drawled the dare.

Stuffing a slice of bacon into his mouth, Harry chewed, swallowed, and choked out, "No – sir."

Snape nodded, satisfied.

Coughing, Harry picked up his glass and took a drink. Apple juice, cold, and sweet slid down his throat refreshingly, tickling his taste buds. Throughout the meal, whenever Harry's plate emptied, Snape refilled it. Finally, Harry covered it with his hand when Snape made to put more eggs on it. Harry had, from what he could tell, dispensed with seven pieces of bacon, three slices of toast, replete with butter and honey, and a host of eggs.

"No more," Harry groaned.

"You're sure?"

Harry nodded, leaning languidly back in his chair, stretching his legs out in front of him so that he could rest his hands on his stomach. He inhaled and exhaled contentedly.

"We shall be working hard this morning. It is important that you keep your energy level up," Snape said, by way of temptation.

All Harry wanted at that moment was to curl up and take a nap, but he shook his head and said, "I can't… I'll burst."

Snape's lip twitched as he took in Harry's drowsy eyes, relaxed slouch, and satisfied frown. After quickly bowing his head to shield his reaction, he stood up. Fang lumbered into the room, tail wagging. Snape simply cast the considerable remainder of their meal into the large bowl on the floor, which Fang attacked, noisily, snuffling it down before Snape had fully cleared the table.

"Let's go, Potter."

*WO

After a quick shower and change of clothes, Harry joined Snape outside where the sun had not yet risen high enough to burn off the morning's dew. His oversized sweatshirt and well-worn undershirt worked well enough to combat the slight, lingering chill, but after taking in Snape's intense expression, he imagined the temperature would soon be of little consequence.

Looking at Harry, Snape said, "Clear your mind." Harry nearly bolted, reminded horribly of their failed Occlumency sessions. "Take several deep breaths and think of something pleasant."

That was different.

"Like what?"

"I don't know, Potter." Snape scowled. "What do you like?"

Considering the question, Harry eyed the ground, focused on the light film of dirt covering Snape's boots. Quidditch, flying, and magic were his great loves. But, he felt he needed something more emotionally substantive, more tangibly human to relate to.

Images of the people in his life instantly flooded his mind. Unsurprisingly, there was Hermione and Ron, but then Neville, Luna – who was always good for a chuckle – and Ginny appeared as well. It didn't escape his notice that they had been the ones with him at the Ministry, but that brought on emotions he was not yet ready to deal with.

"Potter!"

Harry startled. "It's not easy!"

"Fine! Let's try something else," Snape said. "Look at me."

Warily, Harry looked up. Had this been any day beyond two weeks ago, or even a month ago, he would have balked. But, after the summer they had both experienced, he realized that he was slowly coming to develop something like trust for Snape. It wasn't absolute, but it did make following his instructions a bit easier.

"Listen to my voice," said Snape, his voice a calm monotone. "Relax. Close your eyes. Picture yourself in a safe place."

Immediately, Harry found himself in a vaguely familiar room with dark wooden bars surrounding him. He glanced down. Chubby fingers had a tenuous grasp on the bars, but in the next moment, he was no longer standing. The abruptness in the change of position rattled him and he began to cry. A smiling woman with deep red hair and almond shaped eyes of vivid green came into view. She began to sing softly to him, trying to calm him:_ 'Little star that shines so bright, come and peep at me tonight…'_ Giggling, he cast his hands skyward as she reached down for him, and then he was flying...

"Potter!"

Harry grimaced, feeling unbalanced and unsure of where he was. Something sharp was digging into his neck. He opened his eyes to find himself staring up at the sky.

"What happened?" he asked, groggy, and a bit nauseous.

"You fell over," Snape said. "What did you see?"

Harry pushed up to a sitting position and rubbed his eyes. His hands came away wet.

"I saw me, in a cot, crying, then my mum came..."

Snape inhaled shallowly. "Get up," he said, helping Harry to his feet. Snape directed him to the sturdy oak bench next to the front door and sat beside him. "That was the first image to come to mind of a safe place?"

"I didn't even think about it. It just came to me... If I thought about it, nowhere would be safe," Harry said, rubbing his neck.

Snape regarded him disbelievingly. "What about the Weasley's home?"

"That's… different." Harry frowned, shaking his head, feeling utterly incapable of fully expressing what he meant.

Harry had always preferred the chaos of the Burrow over the stark, Aunt Petunia-clean existence on Privet Drive, yet, in either case, he was left wanting. The Dursleys had reveled in excluding Harry from their family, but as close as he felt to them and as welcomed as they always made him feel, the Weasleys were not his family, either. Lily's arms embodied the truest safe place because there, a bond existed, cemented by blood. That he was still alive was testament to its power.

"Very well," Snape said, rubbing his temples. "Why don't you look around the area, spot something that appeals to you and use it a point of focus."

Harry stood up. Venturing forward, his eyes swept the natural expanse of the land until he spotted an old rowan. Beautifully bowed by the relentless southern breeze, its imperfect branches, teeming with wild fibrous leaves, extended sideways, supple as a dancer.

He took a deep breath, trying to think of nothing but the calm he felt while looking at the tree, but, again, tiny, grasping fingers appeared as a soft pair of hands pulled him up, up, so that he squealed with laughter. Then, horrified, heart-wrenching screams mingled to eventually overpower his joyful, tinkling sounds.

As Harry started to fall away, Snape lunged forward to grasp him about the waist. He swept Harry's limp body into his arms and carried him inside placing him on the sofa where he began to lightly slap Harry's cheeks.

"Potter! Potter, wake up!"

Harry frowned at the stinging blows. Finally realizing he wasn't dreaming, he nudged Snape's hand away. He opened his eyes to the man staring down at him, concern and irritation etched across his face.

"W-what happened?"

"You passed out!" Snape paused, swallowing. "What did you see this time?"

"Same thing, except this time, s-she was screaming… It's like when Dementors come round me, I a-always hear her s-screaming…" He choked on a sob in his throat.

"Don't!" Snape said. "Close your eyes. Just – just rest a moment."

Harry instantly regretted saying anything at the look of revulsion that marred Snape's face. He suddenly recalled Snape's memory of James Potter arrogantly dangling a young Snape before the Marauders, and young Snape's acid response to Lily coming to his defense. Though Snape had never professed to hate or even dislike her, Harry imagined he must have counted her amongst his antagonists, if only by Gryffindor association. Nevertheless, that look had hurt, so Harry turned his back on the man.

After a time, his breathing evened out and his tears dried, yet for as long as it took him to fall asleep, Snape remained at his side, his brow furrowed.

*WO

The days passed and routine was established. At breakfast, Snape would quiz Harry over their previous training sessions – as much a taskmaster outside the classroom as he was inside it. He maintained his commitment to instruct Harry to come into his magic gradually, but it was difficult to temper his frustration when Harry easily grasped the theory of his magic, but made little progress in the practical aspect. As hard as Harry tried, as hard as he _wanted_ to try, mentally, he was unprepared, thus ineffective.

Friday proved a hard day.

"You have about as much focus as Filch has magic!" Snape snarled.

"Well if you took a moment to talk to me instead of _yelling_ at me!" Harry yelled.

They had both ended up stalking away from each other; Harry to pout at his rowan, and Snape to scowl in his potions lab out back of the cottage. That evening, following a silent, strained dinner, Harry fell into bed exhausted.

Tired and emotionally overwrought, that nightmarish vision of his mother dying manifested itself in his dreams, haunting him in even sharper detail.

_Baby Harry watched as Lily waded through a box, picking out various items from her days at Hogwarts. There were several old Gryffindor ties, a scarf, old textbooks, and quills. Shoving aside parchments filled with old marked assignments, she discovered a medallion. Her eyes overflowed with tears as she lifted it, letting it swing between her fingers. Recognizing that she was upset, and bewitched by the shiny object, Harry rose unsteadily to his feet and clumsily tottered over to her. She looked up from the necklace and a radiant smile lit her face. She eagerly threw her arms out, and Harry, giggling, toppled forward into them._

_There were delighted squeals from both mother and child: The child, happy because his mum was no longer upset, and the mother, ecstatic to witness her baby's first steps. As Lily held him, he grasped hold of the medallion, marking it as his own plaything by promptly shoving it into his mouth and gumming it mercilessly, making Lily laugh even harder. _

_Months later on Hallowe'en night when his world shattered, Harry had held tight to that same medallion; after his mother was struck by a frightening green light, he had held tight to it; as he sat crying for her, a blinding pain struck him in the center of his forehead, yet he held tight; and when enormous, dust bin sized hands gently plucked him from the ruins of his home to fly him over the moon, he clung tight to it. But, the next morning, he hadn't had it to cling to when his aunt's screams woke him._

Snape came awake instantly at the wretched sound of Harry screaming. He nearly tripped over Fang in the hallway as the dog raced into Harry's room. Snape sat on the bed's edge and gripped Harry's thrashing shoulders, calling to him. Finally, Harry opened his terrified eyes. By the light of the moon seeping through his window, he distinguished a blurry, pale, dark-haired shape beside him on the bed.

"Sirius!" Gasping, Harry threw himself against Snape and embraced him tightly. "You came… I knew you wouldn't leave me… Knew you'd come back!"

Closing his eyes, Snape went rigid. For several moments, he stiffly endured Harry's weak sobs and pleadings, hoping the tears would exhaust the already overtired boy. But, when Harry continued to call him 'Sirius', Snape finally rested his chin on Harry's head and began to chant softly. Eventually, Harry's grasp loosened and he slumped back against his pillows.

"Sirius..." he whispered as his eyelids fluttered sleepily, fighting Snape's spell. "Don't let him get me…"

"It's all right Potter, you're all right," Snape intoned softly. Using his palm, he swept the perspiration from Harry's brow. "No one shall harm you... Sleep, now," he said.

Harry, tired and lulled by Snape's voice as he continued to murmur softly to him, wasn't long in obeying.

*WO

**Soth-ince Den, Lizard Point, Cornwall July 1996 (24)**

"Today you shall work on levitating something more substantial than a quill," Snape said, getting up to clear the breakfast table.

"I'm not ready for anything heavier than that, yet."

"I believe you are. That you don't is part of your problem."

Harry joined him at the sink. "I don't have a problem; I just know what I can and can't do!"

"Potter, you can levitate whatever you choose to levitate! These ridiculous excuses are exhausting!" Snape thrust the dirty dishes at Harry as the boy ran hot, soapy water to wash and rinse them.

"I'm not making excuses! I've tried it, _plenty_ of times! I just can't do it!" Irritated, Harry glanced at Snape to find him regarding him skeptically. "What? When you're out in the lab, I'm trying to levitate… things."

"May I see you try?" asked Snape, eyebrow raised in a non-threatening, inquisitive sort of way so as not to put Harry off.

Shifting about nervously, Harry rinsed and dried his hands. "Fine…"

In the sitting room, Harry spotted a half-empty inkwell on Snape's dark oak desk. He'd attempted to levitate it two days ago, and had become frustrated when the vessel's only movement was a weak wobble. He concentrated, trying to block out all distractions (per Snape's annoyingly repetitive instructions) to focus hard on what he wanted to occur. He mentally verbalized the spell and watched anxiously as the inkwell quivered once – then fell still.

Casting a quick glance over at Snape, who was eyeing him – unimpressed – Harry puffed out a determined breath and tried again. _Come on, come on! Please! I could use a little help… _But, the inkwell seemed glued to the desktop.

"You are not focusing and you are not clearing your mind," said Snape, his tone as bland as Aunt Petunia's roast chicken.

"Yes, I am," Harry said, his voice thick with irritation.

"Oh? What were you thinking about during the second attempt?" Looking like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar, Harry mutely shrugged his shoulders. "I can see the wheels spinning, Potter, you are thinking of something outside of what you want to happen!" Snape said, exasperated. Catching Harry's eye, he said, "Fine then, _who_ were you thinking about?"

Harry quickly lowered his gaze. "What? You don't know –"

"Tell me who it was!"

"No!" Harry shouted. "It's none of your business!"

He felt Snape already knew the answer, but he refused to play Snape's game; he started for his bedroom. Snape stepped in front of him, blocking his way. Their bodies were nearly touching as he raised a long, thin finger between them.

"Potter," he said, emphasizing his words with a poke to Harry's chest, "do not imagine that whatever happens here has nothing to do with me. I'm responsible for you whilst we are here and I shall decide what is of importance and what is not!" He let his hand fall. "I do not take this training lightly, nor will you. Now I shall ask once more. If I don't find your answer satisfactory, I shall resort... to other measures." He narrowed his eyes meaningfully.

Harry knew which 'measures' Snape was threatening him with, and while he didn't want to divulge his thoughts to the man, he didn't want Snape plundering his mind at will either.

"I don't understand what –"

"Potter!" Snape yelled. "Answer me now or –!"

"Sirius!" Harry shouted back, his voice cracking a bit. "Happy now? I was thinking of Sirius!"

"_Black!_" Snape spat, unable to control an instinctive snarl. It was obviously not the answer he had expected as lately, Harry had been dreaming of Lily.

"Yeah," Harry sneered back. "What of it?"

"Potter, Black cannot help you," Snape said, his jaw tight.

"No, that's _your_ job, isn't it?" Harry said, fuming. He needed no reminders, especially from the likes of Snape that Sirius was not there to encourage him; that there would be no late night fire calls, no coded owl post, nor clandestine meetings in caves.

"Oh, yes, Potter, that is my _job,_ such as it is. Unsurprisingly, my duties here, as back at Hogwarts, are to watch you botch attempt after sad attempt after an even more desperate attempt at performing magic a third-year could do with his eyes closed!"

"Well, if you were doing your _job_ properly, maybe I could levitate a damned half-empty inkwell by now! And by the way – don't _ever_ touch me again!"

"Do _not_ speak to me in that manner!"

"I'll speak however I please. _You_ can't punish me!"

"No?" Shifting his stance, to lean forward menacingly toward Harry, Snape crossed his arms over his chest.

"No," Harry retorted, mimicking Snape's actions. "You think the ridiculous chores you give me round here are punishment? I did all that and more at the Dursleys!"

Snape narrowed his eyes ominously, and said, in his silkiest tone, "Very well. Continue to defy me and I shall make certain the coming school year shall be fraught with a variety of unspeakable unpleasantness as you shall be spending a great deal of time with _me _– in detention!"

Judging the horrified, disbelieving look contorting Harry's face, Snape was satisfied he had the boy's undivided attention. He straightened up and ground out, "Now,_ levitate_ the inkwell."

With a petulant sneer Harry angrily focused on the object, knowing that in his current state of mind he'd be lucky to levitate dust. Eventually his face grew red with the effort, and the inkwell remained irritatingly unmoving.

"I can't do it!" he yelled, tired and frustrated.

"You're not even trying!"

Enraged, Harry closed his eyes and clenched his fists, strongly resisting the urge to slap the equally furious man's face. They weren't even two weeks into their stay and Harry felt they had been at this for far too long. How was he supposed to endure this madness for the rest of the summer?

He needed to get out, get some fresh air; get away from Snape. Outside, he headed for the wind swept rowan near the edge of the magical boundary. He leaned against it, hoping for comfort he knew would never come.

"How dare he talk to me like that!" Harry railed, kicking the base of the tree, before flinging himself to the ground. "'_Black can't help you._' Bastard! As if thinking about Sirius has anything to do with me not being able to control my powers! If it's anyone's fault, it's _his_! Constantly haranguing me, berating me for every mistake I make! NEVER a word of support!"

But, that wasn't entirely true. Since their arrival at the cottage, Snape _had_ been encouraging in words and manner, though this bothered and confused Harry, more than he cared to admit.

To an outsider, Snape would appear stiff, distant, and cold; to Harry, Snape's behavior was near doting. He kept after Harry to eat, loading his plate to overflowing if Harry let him; there had been times he'd reacted explosively to something Harry had done, but at other times, he seemed to temper his urge to dole out a tongue lashing in favor of just walking away.

When Harry had tried to levitate that inkwell two days before, it had only been because Snape had left the cottage, without a word, looking defeated, following Harry's unsuccessful attempt to summon his glasses. Feeling horribly inept and guilty, Harry waited a few moments, then followed him. Peeking from around the corner of the cottage, he found the man pacing alongside the garden, muttering and growling.

"He can Apparate me from Merlin knows where, but he can't manage a simple fourth-year Summoning Charm?" He'd then grasped his head in his hands and said, "This is ridiculous, a revolting waste of time…"

Harry now wondered if he shouldn't have agreed with Dumbledore's wishes for him to do whatever his untapped powers allowed, especially if it included cursing Snape senseless. The idea seemed all too appealing just then and lost in his thoughts, he failed to hear Snape's approaching footsteps.

"Potter." Harry stiffened when Snape lowered himself to sit beside him on the grass. "You wished to strike me back there."

Harry turned to Snape, his eyes narrowed with malice. "A hug seemed inappropriate."

"You shall never conquer your powers without first mastering your emotions."

"I don't care." Harry turned back to stare out beyond the hill.

Snape exhaled an irritated sigh. "You must come to grips with your feelings regarding Black's death. This grief shall rob you of _all_ your powers should you continue to ignore it."

"I don't want to keep thinking about it!"

"I'm not suggesting you dwell on it, but talk about it so that you can begin to move on!"

"Talk about it? With who? You? You hated Sirius as much as he hated you!" Harry said, wondering why Snape was so interested in Harry's feelings regarding Sirius' death. Was he getting some twisted sort of pleasure from bringing it up?

"Mine and Black's enmity for one another is not at issue here, you are. And as distressing as the reality may be, Black is dead, Potter. He shall not be coming back!"

"I know that!"

"He shall not be here to take care of you..."

"SHUT UP!"

"…but, you have people willing to, if you let them."

Furious, Harry pounded his fists into the ground and yelled, "No I don't! Anybody who ever cares about me ends up dead! Even when they don't care, th-they still end up dead or-or _tortured_! And I won't have it! I WON'T HAVE IT ANYMORE!" he screamed, beside himself now.

He jumped up and ran, giving no thought to his destination. Ignoring Snape shouting after him, he stumbled blindly up the hill, his skin tingling as he broke through the protective boundary. He finally collapsed near the road, oblivious to Snape puffing to a halt behind him.

"Potter!" Snape roared.

"Get away from me! I hate you!" Harry screeched, trying to crawl to the road. "You _like_ saying that Sirius is dead, don't you? You don't care about my feelings for him! You don't care about me, so just PISS OFF! I don't know what I was thinking going ANYWHERE with you! Sirius would _die_ if he knew I was with you! You make me sick! SICK!"

White as a sheet, Snape strode forward to grab Harry's arm and proceeded to drag him up the hill. Harry flailed, kicked and screamed bloody murder, but the man never let up his intense grip on Harry's arm. As they neared the crest of the hill, Harry went rigid. Alarmed, Snape looked down. As soon as he did, he was sent flying through the air, coming to land on the ground, the middle of his back slamming into a large, viciously jagged stone.

Rolling onto his side, Harry looked to where Snape had landed. The man lay eerily motionless and silent. Instantly Harry was on his knees, scrambling over to him, fear constricting his airway.

"P-professor?" Harry knelt beside the unconscious man, whose face was obscured by lanky, black locks of hair. Just as Harry was reaching to push them back, Snape cried out, a grimace contorting his face as he tried to sit up.

"Professor?"

"We… must get… back," Snape gasped, now trying to roll over. White hot pain flared intensely in his back, forcing a choked curse from his lips. Then, he collapsed and rolled off the rock onto Harry's hand, silent, still.

"Oh _no!_" Harry whispered.

Feeling suddenly vulnerable, he looked around nervously as he crouched down to grab Snape under his arms. He then began to drag the man up the hill. It was slow going because of the thick grasses, but he pulled until he reached the crest of the hill where he stopped for a breather. Snape was a thin man, but he was taller than Harry and it was not easy to pull what amounted to dead weight. _Dead weight._ Harry's stomach churned at the thought, but he reached once again to grasp Snape's arms, pulling him clear to the other side of the protective boundary.

*WO

Panting hard, Harry collapsed against the door of the cottage. He could hear Fang scrabbling about inside, his nails clicking against the stone floor as he barked. Trying to balance Snape's weight while trying to snag the latch downward with his hip, Harry absently wished the door would open. He gave a cry of surprise when it did. He fell, landing painfully on his behind, with Snape's lead-like weight trapping his legs. Scooting from under the man, he made it into a crouching position, then struggled to tug Snape over the threshold, after which he managed to elbow the door closed.

Fang had backed out of the way of the falling bodies, then padded over to investigate, sniffing around Snape's head. When there was no terse, vocal response, he whined and licked the man's face. Unsure of what to do, Harry watched anxiously, silently praying for Snape to come around.

"Mmf! Merlin! Bloody hound!" Snape choked, after several tense moments. Coughing, he pushed Fang away. Heaving a sigh of relief, Harry ran to the kitchen to get a glass of water and a wet flannel.

When he returned, Snape was still on his back, Fang lying next to him. Harry knelt down, extending the glass to the man, who had flung an arm over his eyes.

"Professor?" Harry said, meek as a mouse.

Snape lowered his arm, and slowly opened his dark eyes. He grimaced, trying to sit up. Harry quickly put the glass down to scoot behind him to act as a support. He mentally prepared himself for the tongue-lashing to come; berating him for the hateful things he'd said, for using his powers against Snape, and even now for trying to awkwardly ease his discomfort.

Harry waited, but the only thing Snape said was, "Out in the lab, there is Strengthening Solution and a bottle marked Canalis Vertabralis. Bring them both to me."

"Yes sir." Harry exhaled. He had never felt such glowing relief.

He knew they were in Cornwall, a place called Lizard Point. But, he was powerless to fend for himself, forbidden to do even rudimentary magic with his wand because of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery. And it didn't matter that his wandless magic was untraceable – until he learned to control it, it was as useless to him as his wand.

Snape gingerly lifted his hand to summon throw pillows from the sofa. Gently, Harry wedged them beneath him then rose to walk down the short hall and out the back door. It opened onto a beautifully wild garden bursting with fragrant herbs, flowers, and vegetables. Beyond it was a small, rickety shed – Snape's potions lab. Harry followed the overgrown stone path to the door.

The quaint, tidy dwelling was instantly illuminated by wall torches when Harry stepped inside. He peered around at the meticulously ordered bottles, quickly found what he needed, then raced back to Snape's side. After taking a swallow from each bottle, Snape handed them back to Harry then rested against the pillows as the potions took effect. A moment later, he sat up, rubbing the back of his neck.

"A-are you okay, Professor?"

Snape got to his feet. Without looking at Harry, he reached down to pluck the bottles from his hand, then continued down the hall, outside. Unmoving, Harry watched him depart.

Snape had every right to be angry, even to yell at him if he chose, but he would almost rather Snape had hit him than ignore him. For reasons Harry couldn't yet fathom, Snape's coldness stung deeply. Slowly, he made his way to his room where he collapsed onto his bed, trying to lose himself in the surrounding silence.

*WO

Harry awoke to darkness. After putting on his glasses, he raised his head to look out his open window. Fat, silver droplets of rain sluiced off the roof's eave in a soothing rhythm. He shivered, slightly chilled, then listened, trying to discern any noises coming from within the cottage. Hearing nothing, he got up and padded to the door. His shoes, he noted, were resting neatly beside the foot of his bed.

Snape's bedroom door was open, which meant he was still up. Thinking the man was most likely outside in the lab Harry shuffled into the living room, his stockinged feet whispering across the flagstone floor. Fang thumped his tail in greeting from his spot beneath the window.

When the front door flew open, Harry started. Snape stamped in, wearing a heavy cloak. After closing the door, he swept the hood from his head, then pulled the cloak off, shaking off the excess water before hanging it on the cloak rack. Harry swallowed when Snape's dark eyes came to rest on him.

"Feeling rested?" Snape asked, his voice low and calm.

Stunned that the first words out the man's mouth were not curses or cutting admonitions, Harry managed to croak, "Yes, sir." Embarrassed, he cleared his throat and tried again. "Yes, sir. Thank you. How are you feeling?" he ventured, as Snape breezed past him to the desk.

Snape took the time to first extend his wand to the wall torch above the desk, lighting it. The other six spaced throughout the room came to life, as well.

"I'm fine, Potter," Snape said. He sat at the desk, then reached into a drawer to pull out a quill and parchment.

"Sir, I'm really sorry... for hurting you, again…"

Seeming to come to a decision, Snape turned to look at Harry. He set his quill down and motioned for Harry to take a seat in the nearby chair.

"Perhaps I pushed you too hard. It is only the second week."

Harry stared. Again, it was not what he had been expecting to hear, nor for Snape to be so… indulgent.

"No, I was wrong... you were right," Harry said, miserable. "I have to learn to control myself or… I'll just keep hurting people."

Snape considered Harry a moment, then said, "Potter, Albus told me about your vision of me being tortured. You spoke of it whilst I was asleep, too, of how I came close to dying because of you."

He paused, waiting for Harry to look at him, wanting his undivided attention so that the boy would not misunderstand his next words. When the boy's tortured green eyes met his, Snape said, "I came close to dying because my duplicity was discovered. Bellatrix Lestrange never believed my loyalty was to the Dark Lord, and she and Lucius Malfoy devised a scheme to prove it. It was through my own carelessness that I was caught, no one else's."

In a familiar gesture, he arched his eyebrow to emphasize his point, but lacking its normal enmity, it came off as reassuring.

Harry was staggered. He had been desperate to apologize to Snape, but even more so, he had hoped the man would accept his apology. He had been wholly unprepared for Snape trying to make _him_ feel better!

"But, if it hadn't been for me, you wouldn't –"

"Potter if it hadn't been for you, I would have perished that night... From the moment I was allowed back within the Dark Lord's circle last year, Bellatrix was determined to expose me as less than loyal at the least, and at most, a spy and traitor. She was never going to give up and I knew this!" Snape stressed, more to himself than to Harry, it seemed.

Harry flushed at the admission, but maintained the intense gaze with his professor. He quietly asked, "Then, why did you agree to go back? Why did you stay?"

Snape sighed tiredly, breaking eye contact. "That – that is between the headmaster and me." He then turned back to his stone-colored parchment, picked up his quill and began writing.

*WO


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: JK Rowling's characters.

_**This chapter includes an excerpt from **_**Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix.***

**Soth-ince Den, Lizard Point, Cornwall July 1996 (27)**

Since arriving in Cornwall, Harry had despaired of ever gaining even a moderate control over his magic. Over the next few days, though, his fears vanished.

"Inhale deeply… Visualize the object you want to move… Nod when you've a mental image," Snape instructed.

Eyes closed, Harry nodded; his brows clashed as he considered his task.

"Now concentrate; incant the spell..."

_Wingardium Leviosa._ _Higher… higher… _

After a moment Harry opened his eyes. Relinquishing his focus, an earthy thud issued from behind him. He looked up at Snape and found a curious smirk on the man's face.

"Why that particular stone?" he asked.

"I always trip over the stupid thing going round to the garden…" Harry said, with a scowl. "How far this time?"

"Two and a half, perhaps three meters."

"Another go?"

"No, it's late and you've worked hard today," Snape said, looking out at the reddish-amber streaks of the waning sunset. He strode to the cauldron-sized stone, restored it to its original resting place with a wave of his wand, then proceeded into the cottage. Buoyed by Snape's comment, Harry bound in after him.

As Snape lit the torches, lightening the cottage's dusky interior, Harry went to the kitchen to one of the two crates Snape had brought from Hogwarts. The other crate had been stocked full of potions bottles and ingredients, while this one contained a variety of dishes and pots, charmed by Dobby to fill with whatever savory meal was desired.

Famished, Harry pulled out a large stewpot, a bread basket and a pudding platter. He set the table then called for Snape. Momentarily, the man rounded the corner, adjusting his sleeves, Fang at his heels. He directed his wand at the dog's food and water dishes; Fang watched hungrily as they filled up. Once they had, he set to work.

"What is it tonight?" Snape asked.

"Lamb stew?"

Noting Harry's hopeful face, Snape tapped the big pot with his wand, which filled instantly with bubbling hot liquid; its heavenly aroma made Harry lick his lips. Leaning over it, Snape fanned his hand, directing the aromatic steam toward his prominent nose.

"Does it need anything?" Harry asked.

"Perhaps a touch more rosemary," Snape said. Harry plucked a sprig of the herb from one of the baskets lining the kitchen counter, then tossed it into the pot.

After performing the smell-test once more, Snape nodded – his nonverbal judgment of culinary perfection.

"Good, I'm starved!" Harry grinned.

*WO

After showering, Harry settled comfortably on the sofa. Snape sat quietly in the ratty armchair, a long index finger tapping the edge of the book he was perusing.

"Say what is on your mind, Potter," he said, after enduring several moments of Harry's intense scrutiny.

"Sir?" Caught, Harry tried to sound innocent. Snape lowered his book and narrowed his eyes. "Oh, well, I was just thinking…" Snape inclined an eyebrow, feigning surprise. Harry scowled. "When we met in the headmaster's office, were you Occluding against him?"

Snape frowned. "Occluding is as natural to me as breathing, Potter, of course."

"But it's not because of that, is it? You… you don't trust him very much, do you?" Harry said, unsure if Snape would answer, but certain that if he had overstepped his bounds, Snape would tell him to mind his business.

Snape surprised him by answering.

"Over the past year I had little choice but to allow Dumbledore access to my thoughts and memories as an assurance that nothing of import was being omitted or forgotten during my meetings with the Dark Lord, but no more. Those days are done," Snape said with a fierce sense of either relief or anger – Harry couldn't tell.

Recalling Snape's tight-lipped expression that day, Harry tested his luck.

"You two were arguing before I showed up…"

"We were _discussing_ how best to execute your training."

Harry's lips canted upward. "Well, when you were… discussing my training, why did he want me to charge full steam ahead, but you didn't?"

"Potter, while our purposes are essentially the same, the headmaster has his unique way of handling things, and I have mine – that should not be surprising."

"What's _your_ purpose?"

Tilting his head, Snape studied Harry until the boy began to blush. Finally, Snape said, "Keeping you safe."

With that, he rose to go to his room.

When Snape's bedroom door snapped closed, Harry lay back on the sofa, considering the man's words.

*WO

**Soth-ince Den, Lizard Point, July 1996 (29) **

The storm broke just before sundown, just as Snape and Harry were wrapping up another intense training session. Working alongside the cottage, they made use of the wide open space that had once been a paddock. Rotted fence remnants, along with a protection spell cast by Snape, established a perfect boundary for them to work. Snape had magically sheared a variety of dead limbs from oaks in the grove out back of the garden to test Harry's success in setting them afire casting _Incendio_, as well as his ability to put them out with _Aguamenti_. He was becoming quite accomplished when Snape sighted thunderclouds racing inland from the sea.

As they ran, the wind gusted. A brilliant lightning strike streaked spiderlike across the rapidly darkening sky, followed by an ear-splitting clap of thunder. Steps away from the cottage, a fierce downpour began. Snape reached the door first and held it open for Harry to sprint in past him. Another bone-rattling boom of thunder sent Fang to his feet, whining and spinning in circles beneath his window.

"It's okay, boy," Harry said. Fang wagged his tail gratefully as the drenched boy knelt down to scrub his neck.

"Go put on some dry clothes."

Snape had shucked his outer robes to hang on the cloak rack, revealing black trousers and a damp, white oxford. In all their time together, Harry had never seen what Snape wore beneath his robes.

"But Fang –" The dog whimpered at the sound of his name.

"Go on," Snape said, pitching his chin toward the hall.

In his room, Harry grumbled and silently mocked Snape as he hurriedly peeled off his wet things, leaving them in a soggy heap on the floor. He yanked on a pair of sweatpants and a ratty t-shirt – his standard sleepwear – before padding back out to the sitting room. Snape, now completely dry, was lying stretched out on the sofa, long stockinged feet crossed at the ankles, a book propped open on his stomach. A tempered fire blazed pleasantly in the fireplace; in front of it laid a calm Fang.

"You left your clothes on the floor." Snape's eyes never left his book.

"Er…" Harry said.

Snape looked up and Harry turned on his heel to stomp back to his room where he quickly hurled his soaked things over the back of his desk chair. Back in the sitting room, he shot Snape a look before plopping down on the floor beside Fang. Leaning against the sofa on the pillows Snape had set aside, he rested a hand on Fang's chest; the dog acknowledged his presence with a thump of his tail.

As the tumult raged outside, Harry shuddered, suddenly wondering if Hagrid was okay.

"Did Dumbledore say anything to you about what Hagrid is doing?" Harry said.

Fang's tail thumped double-time at the mention of his master.

"Hagrid is a capable member of the Order."

"So was Remus," Harry pointed out. "I just don't want anything to happen to him." He heard the snap of Snape closing his book and turned his head to look at him.

"What do you know of the night of your rescue?"

"Dumbledore told me that Tonks and that Podmore bloke were guarding me when those Death Eaters showed up," Harry said with a shiver. "Then Remus and the others came. They were all acting so weird… especially Remus. I didn't know it was because of Tonks and Podmore."

"Lupin wasn't only upset because of the loss of two Order members. He had… feelings for that clumsy witch."

Harry stared. "Remus and Tonks?"

"Yes."

"Wow..."

"Indeed," Snape said, with a dismissive sneer.

Harry frowned, annoyed. If Remus had been happy with Tonks, Harry was glad of it.

"You needn't be so cold about it!"

Snape regarded him coolly and said, "Statement of fact does not amount to being cold, Potter. The girl _was_ infinitely clumsy."

"So you think that's what got her killed? Clumsiness? She was killed protecting me!"

"Yes, Potter, and as unfortunate as that is, it is the way of things in war!" Snape declared, sitting up, slamming his book down on the table.

Harry recoiled as if he had been slapped. Hauntingly, Sirius's words to the Weasley children the night Mr. Weasley was attacked in the Department of Mysteries came back to him.

'_Your father knew what he was getting into, and he won't thank you for messing things up for the Order! This is how it is – this is why you're not in the Order – you don't understand – there are things worth dying for!'_

Harry's eyes suddenly filled with tears. The losses, the responsibility, the looming uncertainty; when would it end?

"I don't want to do this," he muttered. "Why aren't you – I need… I can't do this by myself! Why didn't… Why didn't you help him?"

"Who?" Snape asked, confused.

"Sirius!"

Snape muttered an oath as Harry leaned forward, rested his head on his knees and began to cry. Fang rose to lick the back of the boy's neck comfortingly. After a moment, Snape encircled Harry's shoulders with his hands.

"Come, Potter," he said, encouraging Harry up onto the sofa.

"Y-you hated him, just like you hate me!" Harry cried, slumping against the man, oblivious to the contradictory nature of his words and actions. "You didn't want to help him…"

"Hush!" Snape pulled Harry around to face him. "Look at me."

Harry shook his head, desperate to avoid Snape's eyes. He tried to shrug out of Snape's grip, but the man took his face in his hands, forcing eye contact, immersing Harry in a memory.

_*"You wanted to see me, Headmistress?" said Snape._

"_Ah, Professor Snape," said Umbridge. "Yes, I would like another bottle of Veritaserum, as quick as you can, please."_

"_You took my last bottle to interrogate Potter," he said. "Surely you did not use it all? I told you that three drops would be sufficient."_

"_You can make some more, can't you?" Umbridge said._

"_Certainly," said Snape, his lip curling. "It takes a full moon cycle to mature, so I should have it ready for you in around a month."_

"_A month?" squawked Umbridge. "A month? But I need it this evening, Snape! I have just found Potter using my fire to communicate with a person or persons unknown!"_

"_Really?" said Snape, showing his first, faint sign of interest as he looked around at Harry. "Well, it doesn't surprise me. Potter has never shown much inclination to follow school rules." _

"_I wish to interrogate him!" repeated Umbridge angrily, and Snape looked away from Harry back into her furiously quivering face. "I wish you to provide me with a potion that will force him to tell me the truth!"_

"_I have already told you," said Snape smoothly, "that I have no further stocks of Veritaserum. Unless you wish to poison Potter – and I assure you I would have the greatest sympathy with you if you did – I cannot help you. The only trouble is that most venoms act too fast to give the victim much time for truth-telling…"_

"_You are on probation!" shrieked Professor Umbridge, and Snape looked back at her, his eyebrows slightly raised. "You are being deliberately unhelpful! I expected better, Lucius Malfoy always speaks most highly of you! Now get out of my office!"_

_Snape gave her an ironic bow and turned to leave. _

"_He's got Padfoot!" Harry shouted. "He's got Padfoot at the place where it's hidden!"_

_Snape had stopped with his hand on Umbridge's door handle._

"_Padfoot?" cried Professor Umbridge. "What is Padfoot? Where what is hidden? What does he mean, Snape?"_

"_I have no idea," said Snape coldly. "Potter, when I want nonsense shouted at me I shall give you a Babbling Beverage. And Crabbe, loosen your hold a little, if Longbottom suffocates it will mean a lot of tedious paperwork, and I am afraid I shall have to mention it on your reference if ever you apply for a job."_

_He closed the door behind him with a snap...* _

_After hearing Potter's cryptic, yet surprisingly well-crafted statement, Snape quickly made his way to the Room of Requirement which transformed into his office – difference being that the Floo here was open, operational and undetectable. He grabbed a handful of Floo powder and threw it down._

"_Number twelve Grimmauld Place!" When the long kitchen table came into view, Snape barked, "Black!"_

_When there was no immediate response, he counted to five. _

"_Black!" he shouted, again, impatient now and more than a trifle alarmed. _

_Surely the impetuous imbecile had not indeed rushed off to the Ministry? Then came the sound of the kitchen door slamming open. Seconds later, Sirius's grizzled face appeared; he had a filthy rag in his hand._

"_Snape," he growled. "What do you want?" Then anxiously, he quickly inquired, "Is Harry all right?"_

"_He is under the delusion that you are in mortal peril," Snape drawled, eyeing the rag in Sirius's hand. "Obviously the only thing you are remotely in danger of… is dust."_

"_Listen Seve –" _

"_DON'T! The boy is fine, you needn't concern yourself!"_

"_But –" was all Sirius was able to utter before Snape severed the communication by taking his head out of the flames. _

_He rose quickly, anxious to return to Umbridge's office. He silently cursed the brainless conspirators from his own House and their utter stupidity in detaining the wayward Gryffindors and Ravenclaw for that ruthless witch._

_On the way back, he heard what sounded like a herd of hippogriffs on the staircase below him. He leaned over the landing and spotted the instantly recognizable heads of the Weasley boy and his sister barreling down the stairs. The dirty blond head surely belonged to the Lovegood girl, and the graceless boy trailing the pack was Longbottom. Snape's eyes narrowed with curiosity. Potter wasn't with them, leaving him to wonder what had become of the boy as well as his Slytherins. _

_The door to Umbridge's office was wide open when he arrived. Inside, he found his students crumpled on the floor, afflicted with a variety of hexes. It took only a moment to sort out the bedraggled teens as the Gryffindors had obviously cast the hexes hurriedly. While effectively putting the Slytherins out of commission, the magic would have worn off shortly without his intervention._

"_Where is the headmistress?" Snape snapped at the moaning students, disentangling themselves to stand up. _

"_The Mudblood said something about a weapon in the forest. She, Potter and the headmistress went out there." Malfoy groaned, rubbing the back of his neck._

_Snape nearly snorted with exasperation, knowing full well there was no 'weapon' in the Forbidden Forest. He wondered why would the little fools would lead Umbridge there of all places? _

"_Soon as they left," Bulstrode chimed in, "that little Weasley bint hexed me! She had a wand hidden somewhere..." _

_Draco snorted with disgust. "She didn't have anything hidden; she just bested you and took _your_ wand Bulstrode." _

"_Piss off Malfoy," she snarled. _

"_Get back to your rooms!" Snape spat, putting an end to the tiff. "Should you leave them again tonight, you'll not see a Quidditch match, take a trip to Hogsmeade, nor spend a night doing anything other than Filch's bidding the entirety of next year!"_

_He eyed the four students sharply as they quickly scurried out, horrified at the threat, or in Snape's case, promise, of keeping Filch company next term. Trailing them, he watched to ensure that they were indeed headed toward the Slytherin common room. Once, they were out of sight, he fled outside. _

_The Gryffindors and Luna were nowhere to be found on the grounds leading up to the forest. He quickly traversed the forest's perimeter then cautiously probed its dark interior before concluding they had gone. Not for the first time that night he growled with frustration, realizing that Potter must have led them to the Ministry. Emerging from the forest, he sprinted to Hagrid's hut to warn the Order._

The vision ended abruptly and Harry sat back, astonished at what he had seen.

"_Why?_" He had to catch his breath; his heart was in his throat after seeing Sirius.

Snape crossed his arms over his chest. "You need to know that I was not responsible for what happened to your godfather. To think otherwise is counter-productive."

"But, Sirius –"

"– did exactly as he wanted… as always!" Snape growled, getting to his feet he began to pace back and forth before the coffee table.

Harry frowned, confused. "Then, why did you do it? Why did you go check on him?"

Snape sighed exasperatedly. "Because, Potter, Black treated directives as considerately as a two year-old treats a cat! I wouldn't have been surprised if he _had _been at the Ministry, especially if he thought you were in danger…" Snape pinched the bridge of his nose, agitated. "He wasn't to leave the safety of that house! Dumbledore had instructed him that regardless of anything he heard he was not to leave that house!"

"How do I know what you showed me is real?" Harry demanded, thinking Snape's explanation terribly convenient.

"You don't," Snape said. He stopped pacing to eye Harry beadily. "But, I daresay, even the dullest Gryffindor would be able to discern a false memory. It's consciously fabricated as it is related and is never as fluid as a true one."

"Well, it's been your job for the past year to be an expert liar," Harry pointed out stubbornly. "Now, you want me to believe that you actually checked on Sirius _and_ warned the Order that we'd gone to the Ministry?"

"Potter, how do you _think_ they knew to go to the Ministry that night?" Snape snarled. "I can quite guarantee you none of them possess Trelawney's 'inner eye'!"

Harry opened his mouth, desperate for a reason – any reason – the Order had turned up without being forewarned by Snape. Dumbledore couldn't have done it; he had shown up even after the Order had arrived, and no one else knew Harry and the others had been detained in Umbridge's office – except Snape.

Slowly, Harry shut his mouth, realizing that while accepting that Snape had spied for the Order had been difficult to swallow, believing that he had actually gone to check on Sirius was near impossible.

Snape and Sirius had hated each other with a frightening intensity. Their violent clash when Snape stopped by Grimmauld Place to tell Harry that he would be instructing him in Occlumency had been enough to convince him that Snape and Sirius need never share space – ever. As a consequence, blaming Snape had assuaged much of Harry's guilt over Sirius's death; he was unprepared to bear the burden alone.

Reading Harry's expression, Snape said, "I know what you're thinking, and you bear as much responsibility for Black's death as I do, Potter."

Harry shuddered at the implication. "I don't need your sympathy," he spat.

Snape bristled. "You don't know what you need. You rush off to the Ministry with no idea of what you are getting yourself _and_ your schoolmates into. You mope about eating an amount a mouse would have trouble subsisting off of, as what, punishment? Atonement? Are you truly so overly concerned with others that your welfare means so little?"

Harry exploded. "That's rich coming from you who has done nothing these past five years but accuse me of being some over-blown glory hound! And, if anybody needs atonement, it's probably you!"

Snape fell back a step, his face gone the color of curdled milk. After a stunned moment, he collected himself, his eyes reflecting flint. He leveled his shoulders, inhaled deeply, and turned on his heel to leave.

Inexplicably, it wasn't Snape's deadly cold expression that terrified Harry, but the sight of Snape's back. With a distinct sense of unease, Harry realized that over the weeks, something had shifted; silently, stealthily, and wholly unwarranted. Supremely skilled at circumventing a reality where Snape hated him, and he hated Snape, Harry watched that stiff, black clad back in bitter wonderment, thinking his current situation unfair.

Within a matter of weeks, Sirius and Remus had been cruelly wrenched from his life; he now had to rely on someone, who, two months ago, he wouldn't have entrusted to look after his cousin, Dudley; and he had defied Dumbledore, the man who had often shielded Harry from the man who was now raising such an emotional alarm within him. It unsettled Harry, revealing a depth of feeling he refused to face.

Hoping to dam those emotions, and sensing weakness in Snape, he taunted, "Something I said?"

Snape stopped and turned to face Harry. His black eyes sparked with anger.

"You conceited little snot! How dare you! You think the deaths of those close to you entitle you to behave like a mindless miscreant, doing and saying whatever you want, whenever you want, no matter how foul? Let me _again _disabuse you of the notion that as your caretaker –"

Harry jumped to his feet, pointing angrily at Snape. "I don't need anyone to take care of me! I damn sure don't want _you_ to do it!"

"Unfortunately, you now have no choice in the matter!"

"Yes I do! I'll... I'll run away!"

"Oh, yes," Snape hissed, "straight into the Dark Lord's eager hands..."

"What about my powers?"

Snape rolled his eyes. "Potter, go to bed." He turned to walk away.

Infuriated by Snape's dismissive attitude, Harry raised his hands so that a strong gust of wind lifted the man's hair, swirling it about his face. Snape whipped around to grab Harry, gripping his hands so tightly together the boy couldn't move.

"You fool!" Cold fury distorted Snape's face.

"Le' me go!" Harry struggled fiercely within the man's grasp. "I... don't… need… you!"

"Potter, you've no idea how to control your emotions, therefore you shall _never_ learn to control your powers – not when it counts! So tell me exactly how it is that _you don't need me_?" Snape glared at him, jaw clenched.

"I can learn to control them just fine on my own!"

"Yes, if indeed you strive to pepper the countryside with purple-leafed trees, song-less birds and dogs that can't bark!"

Harry reddened at the memory of those blunders. "Not happy unless you're putting somebody down, are you?"

"It does make for a more compelling conversation."

Harry wrenched free of Snape's hold and sneered. "If Sirius were here he'd –"

"He is _not_ here..."

"If he were, he'd –"

"He... is… not… here, _IDIOT BOY!_" Snape thundered.

The room reverberated with the sound as Snape hovered over Harry, slightly crazed. But, at Harry's cowed expression, Snape closed his eyes and pressed his lips into a tight line.

Harry had borne enough of Snape's colorful insults that the words mostly rolled off his back; but this time, for whatever reason, the word 'boy' had felt as blunt as a kick in the gut, making him feel small, worthless, burdensome. His limbs were suddenly unwieldy and limp. Exhausted, he lowered his head, barely managing to stumble over to the sofa. His eyes fluttered closed as Snape stalked out of the room.

Hearing the back door open and close, Harry breathed out a shaky sigh of relief that Snape was gone; but it was short-lived. Moments later he opened his eyes to watch Snape move the club chair close to sit before him. He had a vial in hand.

"What's that?" Harry pressed back against the sofa, trying to appear unafraid.

"It is a potion which shall bring to the surface all that you have been suppressing. I shall not allow you to regress to the state you were in following Lupin's death."

"I'm not taking it!" Harry said, bursting with renewed, but frightened energy.

Snape narrowed his eyes. "Very well… I'll slip it into your pumpkin juice one day without your knowledge."

Harry considered the dispassionate man before him and didn't doubt that he would follow through with his threat. He angrily snatched the vial from Snape's outstretched fingers and downed the contents in one gulp, grimacing at the acrid after taste.

The potion's effects were immediate. Harry clutched his stomach as an intense cramp ripped through him.

"The pain will pass. Breathe easy," Snape said, leaning forward.

"No!" Harry moaned, his eyes watering. "It hurts…"

"Potter, the effects will fade after a –"

Harry screamed. Fang's head shot up from his spot on the floor and the boarhound stood up, howling mournfully. Snape snapped his fingers at the dog and Fang quieted, but he kept watchful eyes on Harry as the boy began to sob.

Misty images of the dead began to float through Harry's mind, sometimes twining together. A chorus of voices merged, indecipherable, though at times clearly calling out to him.

'_Harry! Take my body back!'_

"No!" Harry groaned. "You weren't supposed to be there! I'm sorry… I shouldn't a made you take that s-stupid cup with me! Please… I'm sorry!"

Another groan... A distorted trio blurred into prominence, mouths grotesquely distended as they shouted and gesticulated wildly. Two large blobs accompanied by a narrower one took clear shape; their cruel words cut him deeply.

'…_stand there, in the clothes Petunia and I have put on your ungrateful…'_

'_Who's Cedric? Your boyfriend?'_

'…_I knew you'd be just the same, just as strange, just as – as – _abnormal –'

"You _never_ wanted me – now you're gone and all I have is this… stupid guilt. You weren't my f-family… I was worse than a s-stranger to you!"

Still yelling, Vernon Dursley bristled at a disturbance behind him. A tall figure was smiling broadly, beaming as it boldly floated through a screeching Petunia. Translucent gray eyes, sparkling with equal parts joy and mischief, framed by thick black hair… Harry fought desperately against the naked emotions now rising to the surface, against that familiar creeping ache choking at his heart, trying to crush him from within.

_NO!_ That wound was too fresh, too open, and raw.

"Potter, stop fighting it!"

'_Harry!'_

Harry balled his hands into fists. His face purpled with the effort to squelch the pain that was twisting his heart.

"I don't want to!" He jumped to his feet as if to run away, and instantly doubled over, clutching at his stomach as the same piercing pain from earlier struck him again. Snape stood, too.

'_Harry?' _

In agony, Harry rocked forward until his head butted Snape in the stomach. Snape reached for Harry's shoulders, trying to straighten him up, but it was like trying to bend a steel post. Instead, he pushed Harry back onto the sofa and sat next to him. Feeling the warmth of Snape's body beside him, Harry leaned into it.

"What am I supposed to do?" he cried. "I'm alone. I had you... I had you and… I as good as k-killed you. I wanted to help... and it just all went s-so wrong!"

'_Oh, Harry, you're not alone. I'm with you, always with you. What happened, it was dumb luck. Wrong place, wrong time, absolutely wrong, bloody cousin... Not your fault!' _

Harry looked up at Snape. The man bit his tongue at the crushing sight of Harry's green eyes, glazed over with unbearable suffering.

"But, I need you," Harry whispered, "I didn't want you to go, p-please believe me I didn't mean it!"

'_I know you didn't want me to go! I didn't want to be parted from you, either! But, Harry, you don't need me in the way that you think.'_

"You should still be here to help me, because I'm not going to s-survive, I'm not! They all expect me to… It's just t-too much. How can I beat him when I d-don't know how?"

'_Everything you need, you have… You will be fine. Both of you will be fine.' _

"Both? Wha-what do you mean?"

'_I'm so proud… Give… us my love.'_

"Wait! Don't go! NO!"

'…_wish …stay…' _

The mist broke apart.

Though the pain subsided just as quickly as it had come, Harry was oblivious to the change. Devastated, he buried his face in Snape's chest and sobbed. Through the hitches and hiccups, he scarcely felt the feather-like touches on his cheek or heard the soft biddings to 'Hush' and 'Go to sleep, Harry', before succumbing to his exhaustion.

*WO

A/N: Trelawney's 'inner eye' reference was a great line I read in another fic (I have no clue which one), but I thought it was brilliant and it fit the dialogue here. I hope whoever used that line before me, doesn't mind that I used it.


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: JK Rowling's characters.

**A/N:** I should have included this disclaimer earlier in the journey. I am not British, which is painfully obvious; thus I beg forgiveness for butchering British phrases, locations, and whatever else might offend.

**Soth-ince Den, The Lizard, Cornwall, July 1996 (30)**

Waking up was different. The cushiony buffer stunting the movement of Harry's left arm informed him that he was not in his bed, but in the sitting room, on the sofa. It wasn't the first time he'd fallen asleep there, but it was the first time he had woken up there. Taking a moment to orient himself, he flipped onto his back, snuggling his head against his pillow.

The sun was at its peak, and he squeezed his eyes closed tighter against its saturating light. Through the small open window behind the sofa, Harry fancied he could hear the ocean crashing against the coast's craggy edges. That soothing sound mingled with the awkwardly dry honk of the resident Diricawl.

A week ago, Harry had glimpsed the dodo-like bird near the oak grove, but when Fang tried to flush it out of its nesting spot, it had quickly vanished, abandoning stray feathers in its wake. The ensuing _bang_ of the bird's disappearance had startled the dog so that he yelped, and then raced back to cower behind Harry, whimpering pitifully. As the boarhound snored softly from his spot beneath the large window, Harry smiled at the memory.

Warm and sated, he was tempted to roll over and catch a few more winks; instead, he inhaled deeply. The scent of cinnamon and cloves pervaded his nose, making his chest swell easily, wondrously, framing his heart as it beat an airy rhythm – a welcome contrast to its plodding cadence of recent months.

That deep inhale ignited a jaw-cracking yawn. Lazily, he stretched his arms above him until his fist struck something bony, which grunted. Though gummy with sleep, his eyes flew open as he jerked around to find a blurry Snape grasping his hawk-like nose in both hands.

Harry shot up, horrified.

"Sorry, sir!" he croaked, escaping to the other end of the sofa, tangling his limbs up in the dark blanket covering him. As he struggled out of it, he squinted, watching Snape slowly pull his hands from his face, wiggling his top lip and nose.

"Your glasses are on the table," Snape said, sounding a bit nasally.

Harry snatched them up, grateful when the world came into focus. Looking down, he recognized the aromatic 'blanket' as Snape's robes. He carefully folded them up and laid them on the table.

Though he figured Snape was heartily tired of hearing the question, Harry asked, "You okay?"

Snape was standing now, still tenderly fingering his nose. He shot Harry an exasperated look and muttered, "I'm fine. Nothing broken, nothing bruised."

Taking in the man's appearance, Harry noted several oddly placed stains on his otherwise pristine, black trousers. He blushed, realizing they were from his crying all over the man. Snape caught him looking and glanced down.

"Sorry..." Harry whispered.

Snape closed his eyes, irritated. "Stop apologizing, Potter! Not everything you do is punishable by law!"

"Sor –" He stopped. It was an ingrained response, honed to perfection while residing in the Dursley household.

"Go get cleaned up," Snape said. He sighed inwardly as Harry shuffled past, shoulders slumped.

*WO

In the shower, Harry berated himself for being consistently emotionally weak in front of Snape. What was wrong with him? Only weeks ago he had boasted to the man that he was glad he'd always been hard on him because it motivated him to be strong! Now all he ever did was fall apart in the man's presence. It was maddening!

With last night's events still fresh in his mind, Harry recalled hating Snape for forcing that potion on him, but he now understood why Snape had done it. The emotional lightness he had experienced while lying on the sofa, lingered; he hoped this meant an end to the emotional rollercoaster he'd been on since Sirius's death. It had proved an exhausting ride, and he imagined his numerous outbursts had been no piece of cake for Snape either.

Harry ruefully wondered if Snape had truly grasped the repercussions of looking after him; if Snape had counted on him being such a challenge.

He wondered if the man regretted it.

Emerging from the bathroom, he dripped the short distance across the hall to his room where he toweled himself dry and dressed. The door to the bathroom closed just as he opened his to stepped out into the hall. There, the unmistakable aroma of freshly baked rolls and ham wafted in from the kitchen to tease his senses.

In the kitchen, Harry set a place for himself and Snape. He then sat down, hungrily eyeing everything, but eating nothing, waiting the fifteen minutes it took for Snape to leave the bathroom. When he heard the bathroom door open, Harry filled the glasses, pouring from the white stone pitcher. Seconds later, with still damp hair, Snape rounded the corner. He looked up to see Harry's tentative half-smile.

"You haven't eaten?" Snape frowned, eyes roaming the table.

"I was waiting on you."

Snape grunted. "You needn't have," he said softly, taking his seat.

He took up the platter of eggs, and as always, tipped a generous amount onto Harry's plate, following them up with rolls, ham, and mushrooms. Harry knew he was underweight for his age, but at this rate, he was going to look like Crabbe and Goyle put together come the end of summer. Nevertheless, he happily ate his fill.

After clearing his plate, Snape poured himself a cup of tea and leaned back, crossing his legs. Harry took the opportunity to ask something that had been on his mind since leaving Hogwarts.

"Why am I always so tired after using my magic?"

Snape thought a moment before answering.

"I rather suspect it has more to do with how you are feeling at that moment than with the simple use of magic." Harry frowned. "Anger and fear," Snape said, "for anyone, are an emotional drain. That coupled with the rather impressive depth of your powers, it's not surprising it physically devastates you."

"Oh," Harry said, now understanding why Snape was adamant that his thoughts be positive. "It's like using happy thoughts to conjure a Patronus, like Remus taught me."

"It's not so different, theoretically, but conjuring a Patronus is a singular event. Your wandless magic is wholly dependent upon your emotions no matter what spell you cast, thus you must always be diligent in your intent."

Harry nodded at Snape's teacher-speak as he got up to clear the table, resolving to work harder at not letting his emotions rule him when it came to his magic.

"What are we working on today?" he asked.

"Nothing."

"Yeah?" Harry turned to look at Snape, surprised.

"_Yes_. We're going into the village."

Snape had mentioned a nearby village and how they might be visiting it at some point during their stay. When Harry questioned Snape about the safety factor, Snape assured him all would be well as they would both be taking Polyjuice Potion.

"What are we going to do there?" asked Harry, eager to roam freely amongst a crowd without fear of being recognized.

"There is a festival. I need to replenish some things and there will be vendors dealing in special herbs and other ingredients that often aren't readily available in Hogsmeade or Knockturn Alley." Snape sipped at his tea, eyeing Harry critically. "There are other activities as well – games, rides..."

"Are we leaving now?" Harry asked, excited.

Snape nodded, Harry grinned. He quickly cleaned the kitchen while Snape went outside to the lab, returning with two vials. Their content looked as disgustingly glutinous as it had in Harry's second year, but there was something distinctly different about this batch.

Noticing Harry's odd look, Snape said, "I don't want us having to drink every hour on the hour, so this is a highly concentrated version I brewed. I warn you, it does taste as unpleasant as it looks."

"Yeah," Harry said, unable to suppress a shudder, "I know."

"Indeed?" A dark eyebrow crooked upward.

Harry shrugged guiltily. What was the point of denying things now?

"Well, er, in second year, we – Ron, Hermione and me – were trying to find out if Malfoy was the heir of Slytherin, so we – Hermione, mostly – brewed up some Polyjuice Potion… and we – Ron and I – got, er, hairs from Crabbe and Goyle and went to the Slytherin common room…"

"I see." Snape didn't sound angry, which was a relief, but there was a strange tone to his voice. "And Miss Granger?"

Harry flushed deeply. "Oh, er, she wasn't able to go through with it," he said, eyes glued to his shuffling feet.

"Why not?"

Harry looked up. There was ill-concealed humor in Snape's eyes, just like the day in the hospital wing when Harry tripped and fell, telling Harry he knew exactly what had occurred.

"She thought she had a strand of Millicent Bulstrode's hair, but it was cat hair. That's why she missed so many days in January," Harry confessed with a tiny smile.

"Ah," Snape said, with a wry smirk. He then offered Harry one of the vials. "This contains the hair of a local Muggle man and boy."

"When were you able to get this?"

"A few weeks ago." When Harry looked puzzled, Snape, with lips pursed, said, "When we argued… about the inkwell."

Harry lowered his eyes at the memory. Banishing the unpleasant thought, he grimaced, then tipped the vial to his lips, gagging as its sludge-like contents slid down his throat.

Transformed, he became a tall, dark blond, hazel-eyed sixteen year-old. Looking down at himself, he observed the differences: his hands were much larger, square and rough; his feet properly filled out Dudley's cast-off trainers and his cast-off jeans as well. The only trouble was the shirt. One of the few Harry owned outright, it had ripped along the sides as his chest expanded.

"I have to go change me shirt," Harry said, in a soft baritone, quite unlike his own tenor, and tipped with a soft Cornish accent.

Snape nodded. After swallowing the contents of his vial, he had transformed into a farmer, still tall, but burly and square; a far cry from his normally lean physique. He had the same dark blond hair as Harry's, but it was neatly trimmed, contrasting Harry's shaggy locks, and long dark lashes framed china blue eyes.

"Bring a jacket," he called from the open front door, in an accent much thicker than Harry's. "The weather migh' turn b'fore we git back."

Harry couldn't help the smile that formed at his lips. How could something as ordinary as being reminded to bring a jacket make him feel as though he had just swallowed warm, honey sweetened tea?

He hurriedly grabbed an oversized shirt, and called back, "Okay," as he slipped it over his head. After snatching his jacket from inside his trunk and tossing his glasses on his bed, he dashed out to join Snape.

*WO

The festival's entrance was crowded with people being slowly admitted. Harry craned his neck, curious what an outdoor wizarding festival was like. Having never been to a Muggle festival, he had no point for comparison, though the Dursleys had attended a travelling fair every summer at Dudley's insistence.

Had it been his choice, Vernon would never have gone. Anyone having the misfortune to bring up the subject were obliged to listen to him rant about how the fairs were run by 'no count Gypsies' and how he wasn't 'fool enough' to give his hard earned money to 'none of them common thieves.' Naturally, the family always returned from the outings – just before Harry had come back from Mrs. Figg's – with the car overflowing with stuffed animals and other useless trifles. Harry expected his uncle had bullied the vendors as he was fairly certain neither Dudley nor Vernon had the skill to hit a bull's eye, even if it had been pinned to their hands.

And of course Dudley had always made quite the spectacle of himself, slurping loudly on whatever tooth-destructive sweets his parents had got him, thus, Harry instantly knew his cousin would have loved this festival. From his newly enhanced vantage point, he observed that the number of tents seemed to stretch on for days, and judging from the delicious aromas wafting toward him, many of them served food. The amalgam of sweet and salty grew ever more pungent as he and Snape drew closer to the entrance.

Once inside, Harry gawked at the lively vision of the midway, teeming with families. Small children with cherubic faces already sticky and stained with some colorful confection, milled about, gaping wide-eyed at varied toys floating enticingly in the air. Gaudily attired riders atop charmed unicycles wove expertly in and out of the thick crowd while juggling balls, hoops, or disgruntled Cornish pixies. Farther down the midway, there was an enormous stage where actors were performing historical skits. The current performance was of a cackling Wendelin the Weird being torched repeatedly at the stake.

Taking in Harry's child-like reaction, Snape asked, "Have yeh ne'er bin ter a festival b'fore?"

Harry shook his head. "My cousin, Dudley, used to make his parents take him to a local fair every year, but I never went." His eyes were soon tracking a tiny toy Snitch that had been released along with toy Quidditch seekers zooming after it.

"Why didn' yeh want ter go?" Snape seemed not to be bothered at all by the rough accent, so unlike his own silky inflection.

Harry tore his gaze away from the Snitch to look at Snape. "I wasn' allowed to go."

"Every time they went, yeh were bein' punished?"

_Leave it to Snape to assume the worst, _thought Harry wryly.

"No, I hardly ever went on family outings. Me aunt and uncle were afraid I migh' blow something up."

"Yeh made a habit o' that? Blowin' things up?"

Harry sighed. Of all the times for Snape to be curious about his life with the Dursleys, the man chose this moment?

"It's a long story. Could we enjoy the festival?"

"Fine. We'll discuss this la'er," Snape said. But, Harry's attention was once again on the action surrounding them. "Don' wander off too far."

Harry nodded distractedly. "Okay."

"Yeh mayn't always see me, but I'll be close," Snape said, lightly touching Harry's shoulder, startling him out of his reverie.

"Yes sir," Harry said, fully attentive, a slight smile tugging at the side of his mouth. He watched Snape stride away before moving forward and getting lost in the crowd.

*WO

Harry was astounded watching the lengths vendors went to, hoping to entice a crowd of paying customers to their booth. A swarthy, compact wizard peddling a powder which he professed grew beards on anything that breathed, demonstrated its effects on his dog, a black toy Chihuahua. Harry laughed when the spritely canine sprouted a coal black beard which dragged across the grass as it tip-toed back and forth before the crowd, yipping happily at their laughter and applause.

Fred and George would have loved it; Uncle Vernon would have turned puce with horror. Not only was the vendor obviously a Gypsy and a wizard, but he was hawking something of questionable origin, inviting the suspicion that it was 'probably some homemade nonsense, hardly worth a pence let alone a pound.'

Nearly half an hour later, after wandering past several more booths, Harry stopped. Snape was peering at him from a distance. Harry waved. The man nodded sharply, then continued walking. Though he would have normally despised someone keeping tabs on him, particularly Snape, Harry didn't mind it so much now. He felt perfectly safe in his disguise, yet, he admittedly felt even safer having seen Snape. As he strolled about, ruminating on the strangeness of that new feeling, he noticed a familiar head of hair.

"Hermione?"

The bushy haired girl whipped around, completely ignoring the tall blond standing before her. Curiously, she canvassed the area behind him, only looking up to meet his eyes when he again spoke her name.

"Hermione… It's _Harry_," he said, mouthing his name.

She frowned. "Har –"

He clapped a hand over her mouth.

"It's me," he hissed. Her eyes widened impossibly, then crinkled in confusion as she took in his face. Gingerly, she nodded her head, indicating it was okay to remove his hand. He did so, slowly, just in case.

Regarding him with deep suspicion, she said, "What did the Dursleys give you for Christmas second-year?"

Harry snorted ruefully at the memory and her suspicious nature. "A toothpick."

She then whipped around, hunting for something. Eventually, she grasped Harry's hand and dragged him next to an area where children were riding carpets enchanted to allow them to bump into one another. The entire space beneath the floating rectangles consisted of fluffy white pillows for the riders to fall on if knocked from their carpet. With a smile, Harry realized it was a wizarding version of dodgem cars; he'd seen the actual thing on an episode of _Jonny Briggs_.

Catching Harry off guard, Hermione grabbed him, and like a vice, embraced him tightly. The gleeful squeals of the children drowned out his grunt of surprise. Luckily she let him go as quickly as she had pounced on him.

"What are you doing here?" she squeaked. "More importantly, why are you here looking like… _that_?" Her eyes roamed his body in disbelief. "And why have you never answered any of my letters? Or Ron's? I've been – _we've_ been so worried about you! How could you worry us like that? I mean, honestly, what is going on with you?" she demanded, hands on her hips, questions coming faster than Umbridge's Educational Decrees.

"It's a long story," he said, with a grin. "It would take more time than we have to explain ev'rything."

"You can at least tell me why you're here!"

"I'm on holiday, jus' like you…"

"At least I look like me, and sound like me," she retorted. "Why the disguise, and how did you get hold of _Polyjuice Potion_?" she whispered, again suspicious.

"Think about it," he said, giving her a pointed look. Ever clever, it took her only seconds to understand.

"You got it from Sn –" Again, Harry clapped a hand to her mouth. "Sorry, sorry…" she said, batting his hand away, noting his furious look. "You can't be serious!" she gasped. "Why?"

"Like I said… long story."

"How did you…? What are you…? Where is he?"

"Wandering around the festival somewhere."

"He's _here_ with you?" Harry nodded. "_Snape_?" She mouthed the name. When Harry nodded again, her eyes bugged out of her head. Harry almost laughed. "Goodness, Har – er, what should I call you?"

Harry blinked, flummoxed. He and Snape hadn't discussed names. He never dreamed he would run into someone he knew, so he blurted out the first thing to come to mind.

"James."

Hermione grinned and he shrugged, a half-smile playing at his lips.

"Okay… _James_," she said, tugging his hand to lead him back out onto the midway. "We need someplace quiet, so we can talk."

"Where're your parents?" Harry said, hoping to distract her. He wasn't ready to give details about his summer, yet.

"Oh, they're…" She stood on her toes to crane her neck and scan the crowd. Squinting, she pointed. "There!" she said.

Harry followed her finger to spot a familiar couple standing arm in arm, gazing at one another dazedly, as though there was no else around.

Harry snickered. "They look like they're on a date."

"They sort of are. They're calling this trip their second honeymoon," Hermione said, smiling fondly. "They came here for their first one and my dad's family is from the area."

"Yeah?" said Harry, gazing at her, noting how truly happy she looked. He would never have guessed that she was newly recovered from her experience at the Ministry. She was pleasantly tanned, her tawny skin glowing wonderfully beneath the midday sun, highlighting the dark spattering of freckles framing her nose. He stared at them, captivated.

"Yeah," she said, breaking the spell. "Come on… let's go say 'hi!'"

Harry grabbed her hand and hauled her back. "I don't want to interrupt their… thing," he said, blushing. "Plus, it might not be a good idea, since they… you know, kind of know me."

"Don't be silly," she said, with a snort. "You don't even look or sound like you, remember?" She then looked him over in such an appreciative manner, Harry felt his face warming. He cleared his throat and she jumped.

"Oh… right, sorry…" She shook her head, then dragged him toward her laughing parents. "What's so funny?" She smiled, responding to their good humor as she and Harry joined them.

"Oh, hi darling," her mum said. "Are you having a good time?"

"Brilliant," beamed Hermione. "You remember Har – er, James?" Her parents looked at him quizzically.

"No, dear, I don't think we've met… James," said her dad.

"Oh, well, this is James, a friend from school," she said. "These are my parents, Monroe and Thérèse Granger."

"It's nice to meet you, James," said Mrs. Granger.

"Likewise," said Harry, feeling like a right fraud because he'd met them before. As he was shaking hands with Hermione's dad, he spotted Snape. Before he realized what he was doing, he waved the man over. Snape's eyes widened; he started to shake his head, but stopped when Hermione turned to see who Harry was waving at.

She whipped back around to Harry. "Is that him?"

"Yeah," Harry said. Snape strode over and Harry could tell he was forcing his face into a neutral expression. Hermione grinned broadly as he approached, bouncing on her toes. Harry rolled his eyes at her behavior.

"Hi Prof – er, sir," Hermione stammered.

"Miss." Snape nodded politely.

"James just met my parents," she said, eagerly embracing the name and charade.

"Indeed?" said Snape.

If Harry had thought Snape's demeanor rigid before, it became positively wooden at the utterance of that name. He couldn't feel too bad about it though – it was his father's name after all.

"Yeah, this is, um, my friend, Hermione, from school and these are her parents," Harry muttered, gesturing awkwardly between them.

Snape smoothly introduced himself as Edmund Brockman, extending his square workman's hand to shake theirs. Harry noted that while Snape physically looked like a farmer, his movements and tone bore all the natural, self-possessed grace of Severus Snape, Hogwarts' Potions Master. It was a peculiar sight for Harry, who was only just managing to stifle a grin.

"Mr. Brockman," Hermione piped up. "James and I were just about to explore the festival a bit more."

Snape hitched a blond eyebrow at Harry, who shrugged. After a moment, Snape nodded and Harry let out a relieved breath.

"Thanks," he said.

"Mr. Brockman, would you and your son like to join us for an early dinner?" Mrs. Granger asked.

Harry choked, coughing into his fist; Hermione squeaked and clapped her hands to her mouth to prevent anything escaping, while Snape looked as though he had been Obliviated – repeatedly. Hermione's parents looked at the trio, confused.

"What is it now?" Mr. Granger asked Hermione, who shook her head.

"N-nothing, Dad," she said, thoroughly unconvincing as her wide eyes shifted anxiously between Snape and Harry.

Recovering quickly, Snape cleared his throat and said, "We'd… be delighted, thank yeh."

"Wonderful!" said Mrs. Granger, clapping her hands happily. "We'll meet here at, oh, four o'clock?"

With everyone in agreement, they parted ways. The Grangers continued their stroll along the midway, arm in arm, while Snape went off in search of rare herbs vendors, or the like. Harry and Hermione took off in the opposite direction, but he glanced back at Snape and found the man doing the same, a look of puzzled wonderment on his face. Harry quickly turned back around; he was feeling similarly.

"Whew!" he sighed. "That was bollocks, wasn't it?"

"I thought it was brilliant!" Hermione said, clutching his arm excitedly. "How _are_ you two getting on?"

"We-we're… Fine."

"_Fine?_" She looked at him, her mouth hanging open in disbelief. "Come on…"

Harry shrugged. "It's weird, is all. I mean, it's not like we bin best mates these pas' five years, have we? There's a lot to get pas'," Harry said, a touch defensive.

Hermione's brown eyes were wide with curiosity. "But you're doing it? You're getting on fairly well, aren't you?"

Harry thought of how last night had ended and the morning began.

"Yeah, pretty well," he said, blushing.

"Pretty well? I'd say things were going great. Considering that he managed not to hex me – or you – when I called you 'James'… I actually think it's wonderful!" Hermione grinned, tugging on his arm. "I mean, after what happened at the Ministry…" She trailed off at Harry's pained expression, then screwed her eyes closed, clapping a palm to her forehead. "I'm sorry… I put my foot in it, didn't I?"

"No, you're right," Harry said. "It was horrible and this summer has bin… difficult, too."

"Well, come on then," she said, grabbing his hand. "Let's go find somewhere to talk..."

"Hermione..."

"I want to know what's been going on."

Judging the stubborn look on her face, Harry knew she wouldn't take 'no' for an answer and would squeeze every detail out him that she could. Shortly, they found a secluded spot beneath a tree off behind one of the tents, away from prying ears.

*WO

"So," said Hermione, once they got settled on the grass, "from the beginning, Snape."

In the midst of relating his vision, she held her hand out to interrupt him.

"My God, _Harry!_ You Apparated _Snape_ to Hogsmeade? That's what the crack was, wasn't it?" Hermione said, wanting to get an answer right, even though they weren't in class.

"Yes," Harry said.

"From where?"

Harry stared blankly then shrugged, embarrassed by her awestruck expression. "Some forest… Dunno."

Hermione laughed disbelievingly at Harry's understated response then motioned for him to resume his story. Describing the Order's arrival and his rescue garnered wide-eyed '_ooh's_' and '_ahh's._' She clapped her hands over her mouth in horror as he explained what Dumbledore had said happened to the Dursleys and how it eerily mirrored Snape's ordeal.

Harry blushed furiously when her eyes glittered brightly with tears as he recounted his time looking after Snape, and of helping Galen when Snape finally awoke. When he told her of Snape's clot and how dreadful an experience it was, she gasped and clutched his arm.

"Oh, Harry, he could have died! Those clots are created by the darkest magic! Designed to cause a slow death, killing off the internal organs, rotting a person from the inside…" She trailed off as Harry grew pale.

"Galen never explained what it did, just that it made it difficult to treat him. Those bastards..." he said, his voice hoarse with anger and disgust. Hermione scooted closer to him, taking his hand in hers.

"But, he's okay now," she said soothingly. "Madam Pomfrey and the healer saw to that..."

"I know, but it was just – just horrible to watch. I don't know how he survived it! I really don't." His admiration of the man could not have been plainer in his tone.

"Some summer, huh?" said Hermione, but Harry missed the curious grin on her face.

Peering through a gap beside the tent that shielded them, he observed a small boy, frantically looking about, obviously lost. Harry couldn't hear him, but his little features were screwed up in distress as he searched for a familiar face. Seconds later, a tall dark-haired man scooped the boy up, holding him tightly to his chest. The little boy's arms flew around the man's neck and Harry heard the child's giggle clearly, as though it had been carried over on a breeze.

"Yeah, some summer," he replied, then gasped, jumping to his feet.

"What?" Hermione turned to follow his gaze.

"_Snape_!"

"I see him… so?" Snape was standing near the father and son, twisting his head to and fro.

"He's looking for me! We gotta go!" He reached down to pull Hermione to her feet.

"What? Why?"

"He checks on me." Harry said. "If he doesn't see me… he'll worry."

"Oh, Harry," Hermione said, her tone soft.

"What?" He turned to find her smiling gently at him.

"Nothing... Look, he's leaving!"

They sprinted onto the midway just as Snape turned back in their direction. When he spotted the two teens, the lines of worry in his gently weathered face smoothed out a bit.

"Sorry," Harry said, looking abashed as they approached the man.

"Where 'ave yeh bin?" he asked, his gruff tone belying his obvious relief.

"It was my fault," said Hermione, in a rush to explain. "I wanted him to fill me in on his summer and we needed someplace private – we were just behind the tent there," she said, pointing. "I'm sorry to have worried you, sir."

Snape then looked Harry over so thoroughly, the boy began to fidget. Once he was satisfied Harry was all right, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small seashell covered in white and tan spirals. He tapped it with his finger and muttered, "_Connectere." _The shell glowed red momentarily before he handed it to Harry.

"Touch this ev'ry twenty minutes. It's connected ter the one I 'ave in me pocket. I'll see yeh at dinner."

Speechless, Harry watched the man stride away until he rounded a corner, out of sight. He swallowed and contemplated the non-descript shell in his palm before firmly wrapping his fingers around it.

*WO

Two hours later, two laughing couples and a stern faced man met at a booth. It was an Indian take away joint out front, but it's magically extended inside was a traditional full-service restaurant. The group of five settled on richly colored cushions around their table and placed their orders with the chatty server. Unfamiliar with Indian food, Harry allowed Hermione to do the honors for him.

Hermione's parents and Snape chatted fluidly, while Hermione and Harry – his eyes darting curiously between the three adults – continued to catch up on their summers. After her parents had deemed her well enough to venture outside the house, Hermione had talked them into letting her take a Mythology class at a local university.

"How's it going?" Harry asked, impressed, yet unsurprised.

"Oh, it's terribly interesting. I'm learning..."

Harry listened attentively as she described her class and what she was learning about not only Greek mythology, but British mythology as well.

Consuming the meal was a leisurely affair. The conversation ranged from 'Edmund's' work, to the Grangers' dental practice, and what 'James' and Hermione were most looking forward to in their sixth-year. Eventually, Harry leaned back, rubbing his stomach, a slight frown on his face.

"What's wrong?" Hermione asked, concerned. "Did you eat something bad?"

"No!" he groaned. "These past few weeks, I bin eatin' like Ron." Hermione laughed and poked at his stomach clearly protruding from beneath his shirt. Weakly, Harry elbowed her hand away from him, grinning lazily.

"Yeh bin ill, yeh needed to gain yer strength back," Snape said.

Harry could not fail to notice the shocked look Hermione was firing at him, silently demanding the details of his illness, but his eyes were glued to Snape, who was now listening to Hermione's mother.

"Our Hermione was ill earlier this summer," said Mrs. Granger, reaching to quickly grasp Snape's hand in parental commiseration. The man stiffened at her touch, but listened intently as she quietly went on to describe the events at the Ministry and her daughter's subsequent recovery.

Harry winced at the mention of that night, but relaxed when Hermione clasped his hand beneath the table, squeezing it supportively. He had not forgotten that Sirius was not the only casualty that night. They had all of them been injured, but Hermione had nearly died after being cursed by a Death Eater who had taken great pleasure in the act. He squeezed her hand back in relief. Snape flicked his blue eyes in their direction, noting Harry's reaction.

"We've only just decided to let her return to Hogwarts," said Mr. Granger. "It's just so dangerous what with –"

Now it was Harry's turn to fire off his own shocked look at Hermione, who conveniently ignored him.

"Mum, Dad," she said, abruptly, "James and I are going outside for some air."

"All right, dear," Mrs. Granger said, blinking at her daughter's behavior.

To Harry's relief Mr. Granger said, "Perhaps we should all go," as he pulled out his wallet.

Harry knew that once Hermione had him outside, she would grill him about his time in the hospital wing, and he didn't want to talk about it. He had truly enjoyed the day and did not want it to end on a sour note.

"No. Le'me git it," Snape said, picking up the check so quickly, it looked like sleight of hand. As he went to the cashier, everyone else rose and exited, thanking the host as they emerged onto the crowded midway. Hermione then spun on her heel to rush back inside the restaurant, claiming she had forgotten something.

"James," said Mrs. Granger, moving to stand close to Harry, "your dad is a very nice man."

"Oh, er, thanks," Harry managed, instantly wondering what was taking Snape and Hermione so long.

Then Mrs. Granger smiled at him. Harry noticed that it was Hermione's smile; Hermione's lips quirked the exact way her mother's did.

"I pray I'm not embarrassing you, but he seems so very proud of you," she said, giving his hand a light squeeze.

Harry blinked. 'Proud of' was not a phrase he would have ever imagined Snape feeling about him, so he silently commended the man's spot on role-playing.

"He said you've both experienced some losses this summer, but that you were managing tremendously well."

For Harry, that Snape would mention anything about what they had both endured since June, and to a relative stranger, was even more mindboggling than Snape being proud of him.

"Oh? Er…"

"It's always heartening to see a loving family," Mrs. Granger continued. "You two seem to have a lovely relationship."

Harry shuffled nervously, but was saved the awkwardness of responding when Hermione and Snape finally joined them.

"Do you have everything now, dear?" asked Mr. Granger.

"Yes, Daddy," Hermione said, shivering.

"Okay?" Harry asked. Dusk was falling, and the evening was cooling off quickly.

"I'm fine, just a little chilly," Hermione said, looking at him as if for the first time that day. Though the packaging looked nothing like her friend, the concern in those hazel eyes was unmistakably Harry Potter.

"What?" Harry asked, smiling at her confounded expression.

"It's… nothing," she breathed, shaking her head, strangely unable to hold his gaze any longer.

"Here," Harry said, taking off his jacket, wrapping it around her shoulders.

"No H – James, I'm fine," Hermione said, trying to shrug it off and hand it back to him.

"Keep it," he said, sticking his hands in his jeans pockets.

"I'll give it back once school starts," she promised, smiling. Harry returned her smile and shrugged unconcernedly.

"We shou' be goin'," Snape said. "Pleasure meetin' yeh." He shook the Grangers' hands once more, ending with Hermione. "Miss Granger."

"P – Mr. Brockman," she said, flushing with pleasure. Harry snorted and Hermione punched him in the shoulder.

"Ow!" Harry groaned.

"Hermione!" Mrs. Granger gasped, appalled.

"Oh Mum, he's exaggerating!"

Harry winced and grabbed his shoulder dramatically, so she punched him again. Then they burst into raucous laughter. When Hermione snorted, Harry doubled over, holding his stomach. The adults looked on in wary acceptance, chalking up their behavior to teenage queerness.

As their laughter quieted down, Harry straightened up. He grunted loudly when Hermione once again threw herself at him, just managing to keep his footing to hug her back.

Standing on her toes, she whispered, "See you in September, Harry."

"Count on it," he replied, shivering at her breath on his ear.

"Hermione, love…" It was her dad.

Harry released her, but their hands were still linked as she moved toward her parents. When her hand finally slipped free from his, Harry watched them leave; Hermione bundled securely between her parents, each with an arm around her shoulders. She cast one last glance back, waving happily. Harry waved back, swallowing at the lump in his throat. He started at Snape's whispered command.

"Le's go, Potter."

Harry sighed. All day Snape had managed to avoid referring to him as 'James', but Harry would have preferred being nameless to being called 'Potter.' Though it held none of the hate-filled resonance Snape had reserved for Harry in the past, it had an incredibly impersonal resonance about it now.

At the hang-dog look on Harry's face, Snape asked, "Wha'?"

Knowing it would not be wise to get into a discussion about his name while they were surrounded by so many people, Harry shook his head and said, "It's nothin'."

Before exiting the festival, they passed a booth where Harry saw a witch selling Jabberwocky Bones. According to Hagrid, Fang loved them.

"Sir?"

"Mmm?"

"D' you think I could get some Jabberwocky Bones for Fang?"

Snape hitched an eyebrow, then reached into his jacket pocket. Harry stopped him, flabbergasted.

"Ah, sir, I have a bit o' money lef' over from the end of las' term," he said.

"As yeh wish," said Snape. Harry hadn't thought anything of it when Snape had paid for dinner, but he was taken aback and touched by Snape even considering giving him money. Grinning from ear to ear, he went to purchase the bones.

"Ready, sir," Harry said as he returned to man's side, clutching the package to his chest.

They continued to the Apparition point which was populated by families in various states of chaos preparing to Apparate. A giggling, four-year old boy was running in circles trying to escape his dad – the same boy, Harry realized, that he had seen earlier, wandering lost on the midway. Eventually, the man caught his son and hoisted him into the air, making the boy squeal with delight. They smiled at Harry when they caught him looking at them. Harry smiled back, returning the boy's excited wave, then Snape prompted him to take hold of his arm.

*WO


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: JK Rowling's characters.

**Soth-ince Den, Lizard Point, Cornwall July 1996 (31)**

On Privet Drive Harry was roused most mornings by Dudley trouncing his twenty stones hulk up and down the stairs directly above his cupboard. Then once Uncle Vernon finally saw fit to _let_ him move into Dudley's spare bedroom, the ham-handed thud of Dudley's fists on the door at 7 a.m. was more an annoyance than a wake-up call – Harry lay awake already, anticipating his cousin's obnoxious behavior.

That trained waking had carried over to Hogwarts. But, this summer proved the exception.

Every morning since arriving at Soth-ince, the bewitching aroma of a fry-up had been enough to rouse Harry from his bed. This morning, however, it took him a moment to work out what was happening; when awareness hit, he recoiled, then wormed his way to the far side of the bed, hitting the wall in his attempt to escape the brash warmth of Fang's tongue cutting a wide, soggy swath across his face.

"Ugh! Quit it!" Harry scrubbed at his cheek with his sheet, then yanked it up over his head – a futile effort to douse the lemony morning light, and Fang's fusty breath.

Yesterday had been a full day; reason enough for a bit of a lie-in, in Harry's opinion. He stretched languorously, then began to drift back to sleep, but a bark – like cannon fire in his ear – had him bolting upright, eyes as wild as his hair. Blinking dumbly, he fumbled for his watch, then brought it close to his nose: _8:35._ Bollocks. He should have been up an hour ago.

"Snape still asleep?" Harry raised his brows in a hopeful manner at the bright eyed dog. With a cheerful swish of his tail, Fang barked again then coolly trotted from the room. Harry shoved his glasses on and lumbered along behind the dog to the kitchen where he knew Snape would be.

"Sorry 'bout oversleeping," Harry said. He glanced over expecting Snape's pat response of "Sleep well?", but it never came. He sat down, hoping the man wasn't angry, but Snape said nothing to confirm or deny his mood.

After silently dishing up Harry's breakfast, Snape settled back, his head dipped low over his cup of Oolong; he seemed lost in his wavering reflection. Harry noted that though the tea cup was full, it lacked a fragrant cloud of steam; the man had no place setting either. Harry then wondered how long Snape had been up, sitting there staring.

Harry picked up his knife. The room's odd stillness amplified the clinking of it on the butter dish as he hacked off a bit of the pale glob to scrape on a slice of toast. The sound echoed gratingly, so he stopped. He nibbled at the crisp square, but the more he considered Snape's glum demeanor, the less he felt like eating.

Unnerved by the silence after a time, Harry asked, "What's doin' for today?"

Snape jerked, as if just realizing he wasn't alone. He cleared his throat, but still with an eye on his tea, he said, "A bit of simple revision to warm up. Then we'll move on to some more challenging things."

"Yeah?" Harry said. "What?" For the first time a tinge of genuine excitement to test his magic nipped at him.

"You'll find out." Snape closed his eyes and leaned back, exposing what had been hidden only seconds before.

Harry's eyes narrowed to concerned slits as he took in the muddy shadows beneath Snape's eyes. They underscored his sharp features making him appear strained and hollow – _haunted_, Harry thought. Grisly images of the man lying battered and unconscious in the hospital wing flashed through Harry's mind like a crudely edited home movie. Had Snape had a bad night of it? Had memories of that hellish night in the forest visited him as he slept? Now instead of wondering how long Snape had been up, Harry wondered if he had slept at all.

As Harry sat considering the man, he thought of Mad-Eye Moody's trunk. It had one lock, but it had taken seven keys for Dumbledore to get at the real Moody trapped in the bottom of it. Harry knew that getting to know Snape would progress much the same way, but after sharing such close quarters these many weeks, he liked to think he had a better understanding of some of the man's quirks.

Before coming to Soth-ince, Harry would have bet his vault that as a housemate Snape would be a real fusspot, but he found that the man could be nearly as lackadaisical as he. Training sessions were conducted with the intent to prove that a thing worth doing was worth doing perfectly, but outside those sessions, apathy ruled. Gardening, reading, writing, daily walks, and the rare brewing stint in the potions lab filled Snape's days admirably. Harry imagined this hard and steady dedication to the mundane sprung from the extraordinary life the man led (had led) as a Death Eater and then spy.

To a degree, Harry got it.

The Dursleys' quest to be normal was PRIORITY ONE on Privet Drive and they took great pains to accomplish it: they lived in an ordinary house on an ordinary street in an ordinary suburb, but Harry was the fly in their ordinary glue. That made life difficult on Privet Drive, but once he became part of the wizarding world, beastly relatives proved to be the least of his worries.

Harry's extraordinariness triggered the sort of undue attention he would never get used to: curious stares at his forehead, lies printed in _The Daily Prophet_, mad Ministry of Magic officials, cruel jeers from envious schoolmates, overt suspicion, overt praise… It all made the more conventional aspects of life more gratifying. That's not to say he didn't welcome the rush of the occasional close call with a Bludger on the Quidditch pitch, or the rare run-in with a Chinese Horntail, but ordinary had a beauty all its own. In its simplicity, it bred constancy, and in a life where the only certainty was death at the hand of a madman (prophesied, no less), ordinary was not only appealing, it was crucial for sanity's sake.

But, for all of Snape's ordinary habits, his _sleeping_ habits were a mystery.

No matter how late Harry stayed up, Snape stayed up too. A typically light sleeper, Harry always heard Snape rustling about in the bathroom before he retired for the night. Anything heard beyond that was either the creak of the cottage settling or Fang's gusty snores – heard even when the boarhound slept in the sitting room – yet Harry never heard a peep from Snape's room, just four paces from his own.

Over time, Harry grew used to the quiet, but now the thought of it troubled him, and it threw his imagination into overdrive: maybe Snape was using a Silencing Charm to mask the sounds of his nightmares; or maybe he was muting them with something more potent, something like Dreamless Sleep Potion – which couldn't be good over the long term; or maybe he just sat up all night (as he seemed to have done last night) thinking about that night in the forest, thinking about being at the mercy of Wormtail, Bellatrix, Lucius and Vol –

Harry shook his head. He understood the emotional devastation nightmares wreaked. That Snape was a skilled Occlumens, Potions Master, and spy meant little because there was no way he had emerged unscathed from that level of torture. Harry knew, with all certainty, that night had staked a claim in Snape's mind. Whether it mixed with more benign thoughts, or lurked along the fringes with more… heinous experiences, it was there.

Harry yearned to ask the man how he was coping, but the likelihood of his head being ripped from his body was not an appealing outcome for the trouble. No, a far less volatile topic of discussion was in order.

After a few moments spent haphazardly squashing his porridge against the sides of the bowl, Harry said, "Sir?"

Snape opened his eyes slowly, then shifted his dark brows. He looked just the other side of exhausted.

"Um... thanks for… yesterday, with the festival, and for, you know, being nice to Hermione and her parents. Hermione's mum liked you… You were really convincing." Harry offered up a small smile.

Snape's face quickly shuttered. When he spoke, his tone was deliberate and sharp.

"Potter, after being cooped up here for so many weeks without a break, that trip was simply an opportunity to recharge and regain focus – that is all. And as for being 'convincing', _that_ is my job." He stood to dump his dishes into the sink with a clatter.

"But –"

"Finish eating and meet me outside," Snape said, then swept from the room.

Harry frowned at the beige clump of goo that clung to his spoon. He eyed it, hoping to penetrate its sticky depths in an effort to divine Snape's mood. Had he read too much into Snape's actions at the festival? Things had gone well… hadn't they? Snape had acted genuinely concerned, checking on him, talking to Hermione's parents… giving him that shell.

"His job..." Harry lifted his spoon to fling the mess into the bottom of the bowl. "Right." The more things change, the more they stay the same.

As Harry settled into bed last night, the day's scenes running through his head, he considered – though unwilling to fully concede – that when it came to judging someone's character, his radar was a bit skewed; it often left him with egg on his face.

Harry thought of Quirrell, a falsely timid professor who could have coined the phrase 'two-faced' while playing host to Voldemort's weakened, parasitic form; he thought of Draco Malfoy, the snot-nosed son of a Death Eater, but no heir of Slytherin; he thought of Barty Crouch Jr. masquerading as Alastor 'Mad-Eye' Moody for a year – though to be fair, the psycho had fooled _everybody_, even Dumbledore; and he thought of Sirius, the mad convict who had turned out to be innocent of murder _and_ his godfather.

But for the most part, Harry thought of Snape. He had been ten kinds of wrong about Snape's role as a Death Eater, he had been wrong about the man's role in protecting him at Hogwarts since first-year, and he was likely wrong about a change in the man's feelings for him now.

Yeah. The more things change, the more they stay the same.

*WO

Snape's foul mood persisted as they trained. He exacted excellence from Harry each session, but he went about this one with the single-mindedness of a drill sergeant at boot camp. Harry worried that at any moment Snape would bark, "Drop and give me fifty!" He was spared that indignity, but as promised, after the initial ease of _Windardium Leviosa, Reducio, _and _Impervius_, things soon escalated to more taxing spell work such as defense against Inferi.

Harry strove to keep up as the morning wore on; following a hurried lunch, he wondered if he'd survive the rest of the day without spelling Snape's lips shut. But, instead of losing his cool he ground his teeth against his frustration and every bland "You can do better than that, Potter."

"Better" was never uttered outside the context of him needing to improve, and "good" was only ever anchored within an admonition: "It would be _good_ if you could resist gouging holes in the earth..."; "Actually summoning the chair so that it doesn't take out all of my roses would be a _good_ turn..."

Trying to extract a blatant word of encouragement from Snape proved to be much like trying to wrest a Curly Wurly from Dudley – not that Harry had expected any differently. In Potions Snape only ever had a mildly indulgent word for Slytherins, but Harry had hoped for more than a pale shadow of encouragement as he improved.

"Keep going... keep going," Snape intoned, as the eastern sky began to fade to indigo.

Fang, the hapless subject of this part of the training, was floating a respectable distance from the ground. The boarhound's soulful brown eyes shifted nervously as Harry quietly chanted, "_Mobilicorpus_, _Mobilicorpus_."

"Potter, eventually, you'll have to do this without speaking aloud or moving your lips," Snape blithely reminded him, not for the first time that day.

"_I_ _know_…" Harry squinted at Fang, trying to keep the dog aloft, but he was done in. If not for Snape swiftly casting a spell to settle the bug-eyed dog on his paws, Fang would have crashed into the ground.

Harry sighed. "Sorry… You distracted me."

"Yes, and what will your excuse be when confronted with someone casting a spell at you in Defense Against the Dark Arts come September?" Snape's tone smacked of irritation. "Sixth-year students are expected to begin integrating nonverbal spell work with wand work. In essence, I'm not requiring any more of you than would be required once term starts."

Harry considered Snape's tight expression; he looked worse than he had at breakfast.

"Fine, I'll try harder, but..."

"No, 'but', just _do_ it…" Snape turned and stalked toward the cottage. Fang zipped past Harry to follow.

"Yes, sir," Harry whispered, as he trudged along in their wake.

*WO

After a much deserved shower, Harry joined Snape in the kitchen. As he set the table, a sharp tap on the kitchen window startled him. Without thought, he brought his right arm up to hold it out stiffly in front of him, his palm jutting forward in a stopping motion, eyes trained on the small window above the sink. A rush of unintentional magic elicited an indignant squawk, followed by the thump of ash colored wings against the glass.

Snape took hold of his arm and coaxed it down to his side. When the man stepped toward the window, Harry had to stop himself from grabbing the back of his robes. He watched, on pins and needles, as Snape pushed the window open.

A ruffled great gray owl with a package in its beak, and a larger one in its talons, tumbled head over heels into the kitchen. After righting itself, it cast a malevolent, yellow-eyed glare at Harry who gulped and darted to hide behind Snape. With a loud hoot, the bird flung the packages to the floor with a surly crunch before executing a sharp turn to fly back out. Snape bent to scoop up the parcels and passed them off to Harry, who stared at them, confused. At sight of the tags, though, he broke into a grin.

"It's from Hermione, and the Weasleys!" Harry's grin faltered. "How were they able to send these? I thought nothing could get through the protections…"

"Miss Granger asked to send something along. She obviously alerted the Weasleys, as well."

"Then, what was all that rubbish with Dumbledore? '…Any correspondence, no matter how cleverly devised, could be intercepted…'" Harry enlisted the snooty tone Snape had used with Dumbledore.

Snape flushed, prompting Harry to snort softly.

"You know very well why I said that. In any case, certain precautions _have_ been taken."

Harry flipped the package over. "When did she –? Oh! That's why she went back into the restaurant, isn't it?"

Snape nodded wearily as he recalled the girl cornering him, excited, asking in that annoying rapid fire way of hers if he would allow an owl to deliver a package. Her hunch that safeguards were in place was no surprise; yet, he was deeply unsettled by what followed.

"Ha – James looks great, sir…," she had said as they stood in a quiet corner. Surreptitiously, Snape cast _Muffliato_, then squinted at her curiously. "I mean, clearly he doesn't _look_ like himself, but it's just really rare to see him so relaxed and at ease.

"He's usually so overwhelmed – the weight of the world on his shoulders. Last summer it was Dementors and the threat of being expelled from Hogwarts. And being disconnected from the wizarding world every summer has _always_ been difficult for him, what with his relatives…"

Snape frowned, confused, but Hermione didn't elaborate.

"Sir," Hermione said, searching his eyes, "I know you've harbored rather… ill feelings for Ha – James, and I can only imagine how difficult things were for you at the beginning of everything, but he's remarkable, he truly is! He told me most of what's happened since that night at the Ministry…"

Snape shifted his weight onto his left foot, and swallowed, but he didn't interrupt.

"When I asked how you two were faring, his face lit up," Hermione said, her eyes overly bright. "He'd probably rather cut out his tongue than admit it, but he needs to be looked after, especially with losing Si –, his godfather the way he did... It's just that he's had so few people to count on, and, well he tends to treasure those who show him kindness, no matter how insignificant –"

Snape's brow twitched skyward and Hermione's eyes widened in horror.

"N-not that what _you're_ doing is insignificant, of course!" Hermione began to speak faster, eager to make her point. "_I_ think it's wonderful that you're looking after him because, well… What I mean to say is that James admired his godfather surviving all those years in Azkaban… and, sir, he rather has that same admiration for you –"

Back at Soth-ince, when it was too late to matter, Snape realized that the restless whisper of her palms rubbing together should have clued him in to what she was about to say; he realized that it was at that point he should have cut her off. He should have told her that Potter's feelings meant as much to him as they ever had, but he hadn't. He had let her speak.

"Sir, I… It's clear you care for him too," Hermione said.

The last syllable hung in the air like the last wavering note of a violin solo. Clearly the girl's words begged for a curt, scathing retort, but Snape's rancor failed him. In its place, he had abruptly, (and rather feebly, he acknowledged) offered to allow an owl so that she could send Harry a letter.

_What a world, _Snape thought, only to be further horrified when, in a heady moment of gratitude, Hermione threw her arms around his waist. He froze. Belatedly, Hermione stiffened, too. Clueless of how to gracefully extricate herself, she began to babble apologetically; her apologies rapidly devolved into petting Snape's sides. When after countless, awkward seconds she was still petting him, Snape had gingerly taken her wrists and placed her arms at her sides.

Flushed with relief, Hermione had said, "Thank you, sir. That... that was rather a bit embarrassing."

Snape snapped out of the memory at the crisp sound of Harry ripping into Hermione's gift. He pulled out a letter and a black leather book with a bowed tree branded into its center. He ran a finger over it and jerked it back when the tree flexed to stand straight and proud, then, the cover fell opened, displaying creamy blank pages. When he shut the book, the tree slumped over once again. Putting it aside, Harry read the letter.

_Dear James,_

Harry chuckled.

_I had so much fun yesterday! Seeing you was odd, but wonderful! It was especially great to meet Mr. Brockman and to see how well you two are getting on. _

_My parents want to wish you a happy birthday…_

"My birthday!" Harry shouted, shocked he had forgotten.

… _I hope you like the diary. I spotted it yesterday at the festival and went to get it while you were riding that ridiculous water ride. It's charmed so that only you have access to it, so you needn't worry about prying eyes once we're back at school._

_The tree is a rowan. I asked the craftswizard to brand it onto the cover. For some reason it made me think of you and I thought you'd like it. Muggles often forged talismans out of rowan wood as protection against witches, but oddly enough, it's considered a source of protection in our world as well._

_Happy birthday!_

_Jean_

"I forgot it was my birthday," Harry said, still sounding surprised. Snape raised an eyebrow; Harry shrugged. "It's easy to lose track out here…"

As Harry tried to push the letter back into its envelope, he noticed a folded note inside it addressed to _E. Brockman_. He briefly wondered what Hermione would possibly have to say to Snape, but noting that it was only a single sheaf of parchment, he figured it couldn't be too important. He imagined she was probably gushing over having seen the man yesterday.

"Looks like there's something for you, too."

After handing the note to the bewildered man, Harry tore into the second package. He let out a bark of laughter when a host of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes from Fred and George toppled out of it, and he more or less drooled at the sight of the treacle tart from Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. Ron had sent along a letter in addition to a small, lumpy package.

_James,_

_I got a six-page letter (which I haven't finished) from a mutual friend. She told me what's going on, or at least some of it. She said there was still a lot she didn't know, but that you're doing well. With the company you're keeping, I find that hard to believe. For the entire summer, mate? Bloody hell! I'm hoping she was just trying to wind me up... Anyway, hope you like the presents. Dad helped with the charm on the photo. It's only supposed to reveal itself to you._

_Bilius_

_P.S. The bones are for the dog – not you._

Puncturing the package, Harry tossed a handful of Jabberwocky bones at Fang who caught them mid-air, crunching loudly. Harry grinned as he uncovered the framed photo of him, Hermione, and Ron.

It was taken, from what he could tell, during one of the lighter moments at a Dumbledore's Army meeting. Colin Creevey had recently joined and was, as ever, desperate to capture Harry's image on film. He and Ron had been goofing around, hexing each other to bray like a donkey, and after carrying on for several annoying minutes, Hermione had hexed them mute – perfectly timed for Colin to snap the shot. Like silent movie actors, both boys fell to the floor, dramatically pleading with Hermione to release the hex. She watched them, a smug, pleased look gracing her face. It was only after Harry offered up a gaudy bauble the room provided at his silent wish that she burst into laughter and reversed the hex.

Smiling at the memory, he gathered up the box to take to his room. He put the photo on his night table, adjusting it to face the bed, then went back to the kitchen.

Snape always asked Harry what he wanted for dinner, but tonight he didn't. Instead, he took a moment to contemplate the dishes Harry had set out. Then he tapped his wand against each of them in turn. Harry beamed as a heaping tray of chicken and ham sandwiches appeared along with a platter of steaming, greasy chips and several frosty bottles of butterbeer, dew sluicing pleasantly down the sides. Along with the treacle tart, the meal included all of Harry's favorite foods.

"Thank you, sir!"

Snape dipped his head stiffly then snagged a chicken sandwich and a butterbeer. Harry nearly laughed when the man took a long pull from the amber colored bottle. When Harry had requested it before, Snape had never indulged, claiming that no self-respecting adult would enjoy imbibing so crassly flavored a liquid. Though he confessed to drinking it while a student at Hogwarts, butterbeer, he said, clearly targeted children who had yet to acquire a taste for anything other than sugar. Harry snickered into his second ham sandwich; Snape had shifted an eyebrow in what looked like grudging appreciation after polishing off his butterbeer, then reached for another.

As they ate, Harry pondered every July 30th prior to this one. Always he had played the role of time's sentinel, tracking the ticks of his watch's second hand, counting down until the midnight hour. He was amazed that his sixteenth birthday had escaped that ritual. He considered that typically, old habits die hard, yet yesterday had come and gone – its date an ironically meaningless consequence of a thoroughly meaningful day. Midnight had found him deeply asleep, the sights, sounds, smells, and people of the day, laying waste to a habit that like his cupboard beneath the stairs, he had long outgrown.

*WO

**Soth-ince Den, Lizard Point, Cornwall, August 1996 **

August. The word fairly oozed laziness, but the hazy, humid heat shrouding the valley demanded it. Harry didn't have a calendar to mark the days as he had done on Privet Drive, but September – summer's spoiler – willfully imposed its presence at the close of each day. Indifferent, Harry ignored the first's approach as doggedly as he had once looked forward to it. Inspired by the valley, he was now absorbed in a freedom he had never enjoyed at the Dursleys.

Summertime on Privet Drive had always comprised a sure mix of mowing, weeding, planting, polishing, organizing, house painting, fence painting, car washing, and the occasional house washing. But, here in the valley, weekends and evenings were Harry's to do as he wished. For the most part.

Snape had forbidden him from flying his Firebolt and venturing past the magical line, but those taboos were of little consequence. Harry found that he didn't pine for his broom as much as he had imagined he would, because with all the valley's riches, he was never bored, thus he had no desire to wander beyond its boundaries.

One evening over dinner, he told Snape that when he first set foot over the magical boundary, it felt as if the valley had embraced him. Other than Hogwarts and Grimmauld Place, Harry had never experienced a place come alive around him. With its shifting staircases, disappearing doorways, animated statues, ghosts and poltergeist, Hogwarts owed its millennia-old spirit to its founders, students, teachers, and headmasters; Grimmauld Place owed its soulless air to generations of equally soulless Blacks.

But Soth-ince was different. Harry fancied it possessed a unique, unassuming personality.

The rugged landscape echoed its provincial mining history. Jutting, uneven swells lent an unpredictable crookedness to the bowl-shaped land's outlying edges, giving it the appearance of a badly crafted piece of pottery. Quartered snugly together, the cottage, oak grove, small pond, and garden laid cradled within the valley's vast expanse. Despite its unpretentious appearance, the land was notably ancient and deeply magical, in its own right. Snape never volunteered how he had come to own the land, or who had inhabited it before, but Harry didn't need a pedigree on it. He loved it. It had a palpable sentience, and like most magical places, it was secretive and surprising.

One Saturday, while traversing the edge of the oak grove, a long, gnarled branch, normally positioned high above Harry's head, shifted to hang low, blocking his path to the grove's shadowy interior. He tried to bypass it, but every oak along the perimeter reacted similarly to impede his progress. On his last, frustrated attempt, he heard a string of low hisses. Looking past one tree's thick branch he spotted a family of Adders slithering toward the grove's edge, likely in search of a patch of grass or rock on which to sun themselves.

Snape bade him be wary of strange wildlife residing in grove or elsewhere on the grounds; Harry heeded the warning as well as he could, meaning not at all; the valley had become his personal playground. Undaunted, he roamed the lush pastureland as though he had been born to it, and as the days floated seamlessly one into the other, he began to dread leaving it.

It's now familiar essences and quiet murmurings soothed him to sleep at night. Its remoteness inspired a sort of fearlessness that fed his magic and his soul. In short, Soth-ince provided Harry with a life he had never dreamed possible. Now when Snape called upon him to think of a safe place, without fail Soth-ince was foremost in his thoughts – and despite the man's fickle attitude, so was Snape.

He did his best to communicate this in the twice-weekly letters he now exchanged with Hermione. After he pestered Snape for two days straight, the man relented. He agreed to let them correspond as long as they coded their language and promised to burn the letters after reading them. Ron had written three brief notes, but they contained little that wasn't a coded dig on Snape.

Snape always shook his head at Harry's graceless reaction to the arrival of his post. Anything that sounded remotely like the soft, ruffle of feathers sent the boy scrambling into the kitchen. There were a few notable false alarms when after stubbing his toe on the coffee table, or falling flat on his face after tripping over Fang to get to the kitchen, he returned to the sitting room, red-faced, annoyed, and rubbing at whatever body part had taken the brunt of the blow.

"What?" he would say to Snape, who might be stretched out on the sofa or writing at his desk, eyeing him inscrutably. "I thought I heard something…"

When there was an actual delivery though, Harry had quickly learned to snatch the letters from the determinedly vindictive post owls. It seems the great gray that made the delivery on his birthday had communicated to its comrades that Harry was deserving of a severe pecking upon delivery – every delivery. As a different owl was used for each trip, it was the only explanation Harry could come up with for their hostile behavior. After mulling it over, he supposed he shouldn't be surprised, after all Hedwig could hold a grudge as ably as a scorned woman.

"How typical is it for owls to _always_ attack the person they're delivering post to?"

Just entering the cottage from one of his walks, Snape looked at Harry standing in the center of the sitting room, ruefully nursing yet another deeply split and bleeding finger. He walked to the boy and took his finger in hand.

"_Accio_ wound-cleaning potion," Snape said, turning Harry's finger this way and that. The potion, stored on the kitchen counter (because that was where Harry normally received his post) whizzed through the air into Snape's extended hand. Harry braced himself for the slight sting and repugnant, smoky stench of the purple mess, yet he couldn't complain; it always did its job of healing him right up.

"That should do… until next time," Snape said, letting loose Harry's finger.

Though Harry had been nipped and clawed by Hedwig too many times to count, he had never resorted to anything stronger than Muggle alcohol to treat the wound, if that. Ordinarily, he just let the scratches scab over and was done with them, but Snape insisted on using a potion, obviously not trusting that Harry wouldn't get an infection from any of the strange owls.

Harry looked at the purple coating on his index finger and smiled.

*WO

_Jean,_

_Things are good here. Believe it or not, I've been using the diary. It's not as stupid as I thought – writing my thoughts down. Edmund writes a lot in what I guess is his diary. Either that or he's making some hideously detailed plans for the coming months, if you know what I mean… _

_I wrote Bilius. I told him his jabs at Edmund are getting old and that I don't much care for them. He wrote back that maybe I should wait to write him when I'm feeling 'myself.' I haven't heard from him since. What's he said to you?_

_James_

_Dear James,_

_I'm glad everything is going well! I knew you would use the diary, too! _

_Don't let Bilius's reaction discourage you. You know him; it takes him a while to get used to things, especially when he's left out of the loop. Remember fourth-year? Plus, once he sees how well you're doing, he'll realize how foolish he's been. Don't worry yourself about it. Honestly, you don't need his approval._

_Write soon,_

_Jean_

*WO

**Soth-ince Den, Lizard Point, Cornwall, August 1996 **

August waned, training did not.

Fang was again Harry's hapless volunteer (victim) for this bit of the day's training. Snape wanted Harry to Apparate the dog from the end of the garden where they were standing, to the farthest edge of the grove. Harry had successfully Apparated the boarhound from room to room inside the cottage, gradually working up longer distances until he progressed to working outside. A few days ago he Apparated Fang from one side of the garden to the other, equaling about twelve to fifteen meters in distance, and he had felt plenty confident in doing it. Today's distance, though, was pushing his limits. It was fifty meters from the garden to the farthest end of the grove.

Suppose he failed and disappointed Snape? The prospect was nerve wracking. Yes, Snape kept pushing Harry to next level proved that he was living up to Snape's expectations, but the man kept irritatingly mum about his thoughts on Harry's progress, as if fearing an encouraging word would undo all of it.

Harry closed his eyes, and tried to tread on the uncertainty threatening to overwhelm him. He focused, and in his mind's eye, he saw Fang disappearing from where he stood at Harry's side, and appearing at the target, the back corner of the grove. He breathed in when he heard the _crack _of Disapparation, and breathed out seconds later when he heard the _crack_ of Apparition. Then, shockingly, he heard Fang crying in the distance. He opened his eyes to find Snape bolting toward the dog. Harry shot after him, right on the man's heels, dreading what they might find.

When they reached him, the big dog was on all fours, though carrying on loudly. At first glance he seemed all right, but he continued to howl and whimper piteously, nudging his snout repeatedly against Snape's hand. Snape knelt down to sweep his fingers along the dog's dark coat searching for wounds, a frown of concentration furrowing his brows. Once he reached Fang's large head, he stopped. He held out the dog's ears; one was sliced at a neat thirty-five degree angle, giving him a decidedly lopsided look. At Snape's touch, the dog screeched, causing both wizards to wince in sympathy.

Horrified that he had splinched the dog's ear, Harry fell to his knees and threw his arms around him.

"Oh no!" Harry choked. "I'm sorry, Fang… I'm so sorry! Oh, please…" He been so focused on not disappointing Snape, he hadn't bothered to consider what would happen to Fang if he messed up. He murmured nonsensically for several minutes, and rubbed the dog's back and neck until Snape spoke.

"Potter…"

Harry steeled himself for the harsh diatribe to come. He slowly turned to face Snape. The man didn't look mad, which meant he likely wasn't, but his dark eyes were unreadable. That perturbed Harry. He hated benign, yet inexplicably knowing looks. It reminded him far too much of Dumbledore.

"Yessir?" Harry muttered.

"Look…" Snape pointed at Fang's head.

Puzzled, Harry looked down and found the black, velvety skull sporting two whole, floppy ears. Harry gaped, disbelieving. He whipped back around to Snape, his green eyes eating up his face with wonder.

"How did you do that?"

"I did nothing," Snape said coolly.

Fang, who had been trying to squirm out of Harry's arms, finally shook free to shake his body – his head in particular, as if checking to make sure everything was in flapping order. He then licked Harry's face extravagantly. Harry sighed. He wanted to fire off a few choice words, but he settled for taking a long, deep breath and then letting it out. If he had learned nothing else this summer, it was that getting riled over things beyond his control was a waste of energy. So he had one more aspect of his magic to contend with. It was what it was.

"How do you feel?" Snape asked.

Harry twitched his nose, damp from Fang's kiss. "All right. Glad he's okay," he said, gesturing at the dog, now loping after a nimble rabbit he had no chance of catching. "How should I feel?"

Snape shrugged. "As someone who's never healed anyone or any animal in that manner before, I wouldn't know."

Harry swallowed audibly. When he spoke, though, he was decidedly calm. "I hope that's it. I hope that's the last… surprise. Just when I was getting used to everything else…"

Snape, still kneeling, rubbed at his forehead, then closed his eyes. "Yes," he said. He sighed heavily and got to his feet. "Come."

Side by side they silently made their way back to the cottage and settled in for dinner.

*WO

_Jean,_

_A lot's happened here – nothing terrible, it's just… a lot._

_How is your class going? I can't believe summer is almost over. I'll be glad to see everyone, but I never thought I'd actually like it here. So much has changed for me it's sort of difficult to sort it all out in my head. I've told Edmund a little about how things were for me growing up and he actually seems to listen when I talk about it. Totally out of character, eh? But it's nice. _

_James_

_Dear James,_

_Class is great, but I… Well, this guy who's not even in my class, asked me out for coffee. I've seen him around the library and he seems perfectly nice, but I told him no. He smiled and said, "Maybe next time." That was Thursday; he asked again Friday and I declined, again. He didn't seem too bothered by it, which I thought was strange, but even stranger was how he acted when my dad picked me up. He drops me off as well, and to be honest, I don't think he leaves, but Billy – that's the guy's name – he would become sort of agitated, and dash off just as my dad arrived._

_Today, though, he was helping me pick up my things after my bag ripped, and Dad showed up. I introduced them, but I could instantly that Dad didn't like him, and Billy was incredibly anxious to get away. In the car, Dad said he felt there was something off about Billy, that he wanted me to stay away from him. I was surprised because Dad rarely dislikes anyone, but he was so grim about it that I agreed. _

_He likes you, though. Mum, too. Ever since meeting you she won't stop singing your praises. 'Darling, have you written James today?' 'Such a lovely boy. Be sure to ask him round for tea sometime.' Merlin! I think that if she weren't already married, she might ask for your hand!_

_Always,_

_Jean_

_P.S. I'm not at all surprised that Edmund listens to you…_

_Jean,_

_An admirer, eh? Did you want to go out with him? I mean, not that it's any of my business. You said he was nice and your judgment is usually spot on, but I think it's good your dad was there. I'm glad he told you to stay away from this guy. If he didn't like him, then you should definitely listen to him – he's probably right. Your mum, too._

_Yours,_

_James_

*WO

Snape and Harry were near the close of another intense session. For nearly an hour, Harry had been trying to freeze the bucket of water Snape had set on the ground before him. For all the luck he was having, he thought Snape might just as well have asked him to transfigure Fang into a stick pin. Freezing things was difficult, advanced magic, and each failed attempt gnawed at his confidence. Frustrated and feeling the devil of a headache coming on, he gave up.

"Why are you pushing so hard?" Harry glared at Snape accusingly. The man looked thoroughly taken aback.

"Have you forgotten why we're here, Potter?"

Harry frowned. "No, but –"

Snape crossed his arms over his chest. "This time is not about festivals, nor is it about wiling away the days fishing at the pond; it is about _you_ learning to manage your magic –"

"Yeah, so I can off Voldemort! I know, I know!" Harry threw his arms over his chest. Already overwhelmed with frustration he wondered why was Snape telling him what he already knew? Once Dumbledore shared the contents of the Prophecy, its meaning had been seared into Harry's brain.

Snape snarled; his eyes glowed like burning coals. "_That_ most certainly is _not_ why we are here!"

Harry gawked, wondering what alternate reality the man was living in. Corralling his magic so that he could destroy Voldemort most certainly _was_ why he was here! It was his destiny, wasn't it?

But, just as Harry was taking in Snape's bizarre reaction, Snape was taking in Harry's. He cocked his head and furrowed his brow; his dark eyes probed Harry's green ones intently.

"Potter, you truly believe your only purpose in life is to defeat the Dark Lord?" His voice was full of wonder.

"Well, that's what the Prophecy –"

"For the love of… Damn that ridiculous Prophecy!" Snape spat. "What do youbelieve?"

Harry's mouth worked for a moment, then he said, "I – I don't… I never thought about it…"

"_Indeed_."

"When Dumbledore told me about the Prophecy, he said –"

Snape growled. "Never mind Dumbledore, Potter… I want to know what _you_ believe!"

Harry sighed harshly and jabbed his fists into his jeans pockets. What did Snape want from him? What did he want him to say? The future was fixed, preordained without any input from him. What did it matter what he thought?

"I – I don't know!" He shrugged angrily. Snape rolled his eyes, prompting Harry to yell, "If the prophecy's so meaningless, why do I have all this power? If I'm not supposed to destroy Voldemort, why all this training, huh?" He kicked the bucket of water over. "Why… why me?" he asked, his voice small and exhausted as he watched the water fan out between him and Snape, creating a watery bridge.

Snape reached out a finger to gently tip Harry's chin up. Once Harry was looking at him, Snape lowered his hand. He sighed at the sadness and anger in Harry's green eyes.

"I can't answer that. But second-sight… _quackery_ is in no way proof, singling you out as the means to defeat the Dark Lord!"

Harry found the man's utter certainty perplexing… and infectious. It sparked a desire to believe, so badly Harry's throat burned with the taste of it, but, he threw on the mental brakes: it would be mad, not to mention, deadly to let his guard down against Voldemort. Regardless of Snape's disdain for the 'truth' of the Prophecy, Voldemort wouldn't be satisfied until Harry was dead. Of that he was certain.

"Howdo you _know_?" he asked.

Snape's reaction was peculiar; his dark eyes darted nervously over Harry's face, bouncing back and forth between his forehead and his eyes. He looked strangely wounded, as though he wanted nothing more than to look away from Harry, but he didn't. He resolutely held Harry's gaze as he said: "I only know that it is madness for a child to bear the fate of our world on his shoulders, especially as it was the folly of grown men that triggered the terrors that child had no part in."

Harry blinked. A _child_? Harry probed Snape's eyes, trying to understand. There was something different there. He questioned, not for the first time, the man's feelings for him.

Did Severus Snape, Hogwarts' self-proclaimed Potter-hater, now see him as something other than James Potter's clone? Did he now understand how deeply Harry loathed his ill-begotten station in wizarding lore? Did he now accept, after hearing Harry reluctantly chronicle his life in Surrey, that it had been far from charmed? Did he now believe, after so many weeks of training, that Harry was not a talentless hack, but clay, malleable and in need of Snape's hard, but practical influence to mold him into the powerful wizard he was to become?

Did Snape see beyond even that? Had he finally discovered Harry, the boy?

"So… why are you pushing me so hard?" Harry asked softly, hoping that was the case.

Snape raised his eyes to look past him to the setting sun.

"In fair weather prepare for foul,"* he said, then waved his wand to right the bucket Harry had knocked over. "Go get cleaned up for dinner."

*WO

_A/N_: *Quote by, Thomas Fuller.


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: JK Rowling's characters.

**The Leaky Cauldron, Diagon Alley, August 1996 (20)**

"James!"

A mass of brown hair was plowing its way through the Leaky Cauldron's patrons like a combine through a wheat field. A ticked off looking Ron was being dragged along behind it, oblivious to the crowd's testy looks. By the time they arrived at Harry and Snape's corner table, Ron resembled a ruffled rooster; Hermione was beaming.

"Hi," Harry said, grinning.

"James." Hermione bussed his cheek and squeezed him as if it had been ages since their last meeting.

Harry held her just as tightly. On an inhale, his stomach seesawed: she smelled of Soth-ince. One of the first things Harry did when he woke up was jut his head out his window to get a whiff of the cottage's wild garden. That same confluence of scents emanated intoxicatingly from Hermione, as if she had bathed in them – he couldn't resist burying his nose in her hair for a moment.

"Hey Har –" Ron began. In a flash, Hermione wrenched herself out of Harry's arms and rounded on Ron to boot him in the shin.

"OW!" Ron clutched his injured leg. "Bloody hell, Hermione! What was that for?"

"His name is _James_," she hissed.

"Bollocks! …Forgot." Ron glared at her. "You could've just said something instead of tryin' to maim me! I'll probably be bruised for weeks!"

"Well, be more careful," Hermione said coolly. Ron rolled his eyes and limped over to Harry, his hand outstretched.

"_James._" Ron drew out the name in a spot on imitation of his brother, Percy.

"Ron," Harry said, laughing. When he shook Ron's hand, aggravation at his lack of letters all summer fled.

"This is weird," Ron said, looking Harry up and down. "You're as tall as me now – and that accent…"

Harry scowled at him good-naturedly then jerked his head away when Ron reached to muss his hair.

"Where's everyone else?" he asked.

"Mum and Ginny are shopping for robes. Dad's at Fred and George's."

"Oh, right! Weasley's Wizard Wheezes! How's it goin'?"

"Fine, great, in fact... They're even thinking to open another shop in Hogsmeade."

"Really? That's brilliant! You finally had a chance to see the shop, then?"

"Yeah, earlier today, but just for –"

Hermione startled at a slight movement behind them; unknowingly, they had migrated into a tight circle as they talked.

"Oh! Prof – Mr. Brockman!"

"Miss Granger," Snape said. Harry edged back to open the circle as the man stood up.

"Sorry…" he said. "Ron… er, this is, um, Edmun' Brockman, me uh…"

"James's _dad_," Hermione said, piercing Ron with a sharp '_You promised to behave' _look. Ron then pressed his lips so tightly together Harry thought McGonagall might have been envious.

"Sir," Ron said. Harry frowned at his icy tone, but if Snape was bothered by it, he didn't let on.

"Mr. Weasley," he said, with a slight nod. "'Tis a bit o'ercrowded in here fer a proper reunion. P'rhaps we shou' make our way out." As he gestured for Hermione to lead the way, Ron cast him a nasty glance. Harry sighed softly.

"Where to first?" Hermione asked, once they had passed through the Leaky Cauldron's brick wall to Diagon Alley. The winding street buzzed with the crowd of late afternoon shoppers.

"Gringotts," said Harry. "We'd only just arrived before you two showed up."

"Well, let's go," Ron groused, after being jostled by a corpulent wizard pushing past to enter the pub.

*WO

As they walked, the three teens laughed and chatted animatedly. Hermione's parents had escorted her to the Leaky Cauldron and were allowing her to spend the last two weeks of the holidays at the Weasley's. Marking the excitement in her voice, Harry reflected on how when forced to languish at the Dursleys he had always resented the thought of them all together without him. Now, though, for the first time in a long time, he was content with where he was; he was content at Soth-ince, and with Snape.

Ron was beginning to fill him in on Charlie's recent arrival from Romania when Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas popped out of Flourish and Blott's. The boys were a flurry of hand gestures, grins, and trash talk about what could only be football.

"Oy, Weasley! Hermione!" Seamus fairly shouted.

"Mate, they're not deaf," Dean said. Seamus boxed him in the shoulder.

"Go hang, wanker," he said. "Fancy meetin' you lot here… Who's this?" Seamus eyed Harry confusedly.

"Hey, shh!" Ron grabbed hold of the boy's arm, looking about nervously.

Seamus's eyes shifted pointedly from Ron's face to Ron's hand, bewilderment quickly spiraling into a fiery attitude. "Weasley –"

"Seamus, please, you don't –" Hermione began.

"Draco, if I had known what a wastrel you would be with my time, I would have asked Lestrange to escort you here."

That chilling drawl froze everyone in place. Then moving as though they were being viewed at a slowed down speed through Omnioculars, they all turned to see Lucius and Draco Malfoy exiting Madam Malkin's.

"Bloody hell!" Ron exclaimed. Hermione squeaked and stumbled back, crushing Ron's foot, though he took no notice.

Harry inhaled harshly at the sight of Lucius's silver-gray eyes; it was through sheer force of will that he shuttered his own against the rage he knew must have shone in them.

"Well, well, if it isn't one of the Weasley pups," Lucius said, drawing out 'Weasley' so that it sounded like an oath. Coldly handsome, his sharp features twisted beneath his ever present sneer, suggesting he would rather eat slugs than exchange words with the young blood traitor.

"Where is the rest of the brood? Tripping over themselves to do Dumbledore's bidding? I daresay, young Weasley, you might do well to take lessons from your elder brother – Pepe, is it? He rather has his priorities in order..."

"My brother's priorities are anybody's guess," Ron said, red-faced. "In any case, I'll thank you to keep your mouth shut about him!"

"Still a tender subject, hmm?" Lucius slapped a white, lambskin glove against his palm as he spoke.

When he did this, Draco flinched. Harry noted that, oddly, the blond boy seemed to find the cobbled pavement more intriguing than the scene before him. Where normally Draco reveled in watching his father verbally destroy someone, his thin face now reflected something other than Malfoy arrogance. Harry had no time to ponder it, though; Lucius had set his sights on Hermione.

"Miss Granger, how lovely it is to see you up and about following your… _mishap_."

Recovered from her initial shock, Hermione lifted her chin and boldly opened her mouth to retort, but Harry put his hand on her arm and moved to stand in front of her.

"Ah… Who have we here?" Lucius eyed Harry as if his Muggle T-shirt and jeans might be contagious. "Another Mudblood amongst the – one, two, three – already in attendance? Or are you an embarrassingly unorthodox Pure-blood like Potter's penniless sidekick, there?"

Ron cursed, then edged around Hermione to lunge at Lucius, but Dean, and Seamus – who threw a vigorous two-fingered salute at the man – held him back. Harry had stiffened, infuriated, but he smiled inwardly when after twirling a finger beside his leg, a faint breeze stirred Lucius's hair causing the man to look about uneasily. Then Snape stepped close behind Harry and put a hand on his neck, squeezing gently, yet there was nothing admonishing in the touch. Harry leaned into it, grateful for its grounding effect, but he was stunned by Snape's reaction to Lucius; it didn't seem to faze him that the man who had had a hand in nearly killing him was standing a mere five steps away.

"I be Edmun' Brockman, an' this be me boy," Snape said, melodic Cornish accent firmly in place. He then stuck out his large, farm roughened hand. "An' you'm?"

Lucius coldly ignored the neighborly gesture. "Lucius _Malfoy,_" he said, then nodded at Draco. "This is _my_ son, Draco."

Snape slowly withdrew his hand, taking that unguarded moment to observe the boy. Once Draco realized he was being inspected, a familiar insolence took hold, yet it failed to fully mask his troubled aura.

"Ron! There you are!" Mrs. Weasley came jogging heavily across the street toward them. Ginny, laden with parcels, ran lightly alongside her. "Why aren't you at Fred and George's?" Mrs. Weasley snapped, bosom heaving.

"We got held up..." Ron lifted his chin in the Malfoys' direction. Mrs. Weasley turned to look at them.

"Mr. Malfoy," she said. Though still breathless from running, the frostiness in her voice was plain. That the man had been amongst the monsters that had attacked children at the Ministry – including two of hers – was obviously still fresh on her mind. Her eyes blazed as she inserted herself between Lucius and her son.

"_Molly_," Lucius said.

Now, Harry wasn't conscious of his mouth falling open, but the poisonous look Mrs. Weasley fired at Lucius was well worth the price of looking utterly witless. Though he had witnessed Mrs. Weasley's wrath directed at her children rather a lot, he had never seen her target someone she didn't like; it was lava-like in its intensity. Seeing the Slytherin quailbeneath the strength of that glare was a sight to behold, but, no less surprising than Lucius's reaction was Draco's: he had _blushed_ at his father's blatant tactlessness.

Observing the boy's reaction, Mrs. Weasley said, "Draco," but, her voice was softer now, kind.

Draco raised his head, his expression unwittingly mirroring Ron's gape-mouthed shock. His pale eyes, simultaneously wary and confused, searched hers until his father's fingers began to bite into his shoulder. He grimaced, then eventually twisted free.

"Come," Lucius said, and spun angrily on his heel. Draco followed, but not before casting a strangely hungry glance back at Harry and Snape.

Mrs. Weasley shook her head at the Malfoys' bizarre interaction, then turned to face the group behind her.

"Ron, your father is still at the shop. I told him we'd meet him and leave from there."

"But, Mum, H –" Ron coughed and glanced at Harry. "We still need to stop by Gringotts and then get J-James' things."

Mrs. Weasley's eyes went wide, quickly touching on both Harry and Snape in turn; but she wasn't the mother of seven for nothing. Over the years she had mastered the ability to transform her features at the drop of a Sickle to reflect whatever mood was occasioned, and though Lucius was gone, appearances still needed to be maintained.

"Yes, well, all right," she said, shifting her purse so that she could give Harry a quick, fierce hug. "It's so good to see you, Harry," she whispered into his ear. She then grasped Snape's free hand in both of hers, wringing it while giving a moist-eyed glance to the man's other hand still resting comfortably on Harry's neck. She turned to Ron.

"Instead of waiting, I think your father, Ginny and I will go ahead. Why don't you –"

"Mum! The sooner you stop blathering, the sooner we'll be at Fred and George's!" Ron said.

"All right, yes, fine," Mrs. Weasley said, as Ginny began steering her back across the street toward the twins' shop. "We're meeting at – Ginny, stop pushing, I'm coming! – Ron, you know where!"

"We'll be there!" Ron called exasperatedly.

"Well… We gotta go, too," said Dean, glancing at Harry curiously. When Seamus made to open his mouth, Dean elbowed him sharply in the side. "Let's go. Your mum'll be ticked if we're late. See you guys at school." He nodded goodbye, then dragged a protesting Seamus along behind him, heading for the Leaky Cauldron. Harry and the others resumed their journey to the bank.

"Malfoy should be rotting in Azkaban after what he did at the Ministry!" Ron spat.

"How _did_ he get away?" Harry asked, in total agreement with Ron, though not only for that reason. "The Order had the Death Eaters wrapped up like presents for the Aurors, didn't they?"

"It didn't matter," Ron said, apparently well-versed on the subject and eager to let them know. "A rogue Auror helped him escape."

"Rogue Auror?" Harry parroted.

"Aye," Snape replied. Harry looked at him, amazed the subject had never come up before now.

"Well, isn't that all the more reason to arrest him, 'specially since one of their own helped him?" he asked.

Ron snorted. "That guy is long gone. Plus Malfoy's got an alibi. Dad said that Mrs. Malfoy claims he was home that night, not at the Ministry."

"And they believed her?" Harry asked. "What about the Order? They all saw him!"

"All the Death Eaters were masked –" Snape began.

"But he was _there!_" Harry insisted. "He tried to get the Prophecy from me!"

"_We_ know that, but without definitive proof, they've nothing to arrest him on, let alone convict," Hermione offered.

"What rubbish!" Harry fumed. "If they'd done their job, if they'd had trustworthy people working there, Malfoy wouldn't have been free to tort –"

"Oh, don't!" Hermione clutched his arm. Harry followed her gaze and mentally cursed his thick-headedness; Snape had blanched and his jaw muscles were jumping spastically.

"I'm sorry," Harry said quietly, thinking life would be simpler were the phrase simply tattooed across his forehead.

"Le's jus' git this o'er with," Snape said as they ascended the steps into the bank.

"We'll wait here," Hermione said once they entered the lobby. Harry nodded, then he and Snape crossed to the counter, quietly requesting access to Harry Potter's vault.

If the goblins found it suspicious that the blond haired, hazel eyed boy before them in no way resembled Harry Potter, they queerly kept it to themselves. Harry had the key to the vault and that seemed good enough for the gruff, long-fingered goblin assisting him, who simply nodded and called for an assistant to escort Harry and Snape to a cart.

"I'd rather go by meself, sir, if yeh don't mind," Harry said when Snape made to follow him. He didn't know Snape's financial situation, but regardless of who he was with, visiting the bank made for an uncomfortable time as the Potter vault housed an embarrassment of riches.

"Ev'rything all righ'?" Snape asked. Harry nodded. Though clearly unconvinced, Snape said, "As yeh wish... I'll stay here."

Harry held the man's concerned gaze. "Sir? I-I'm sorry about earlier. It was just, seein' Malfoy, 'specially after he hurt –"

"Stop," Snape said quietly. "Jus' go git yer money an' stop frettin' o'er things yeh can' help." He reached out and quickly smoothed a puckered corner along the shoulder of Harry's T-shirt. Harry offered up a shy smile then hurried over to the scowling, foot-tapping goblin.

Following the nauseating cart ride Harry eagerly rejoined Snape in the waiting room. Out in the main lobby he was surprised to find Hermione and Ron laughing and talking to Bill Weasley. When Ron pointed, Bill turned, his pony-tail flipping to land on his left shoulder, exposing his fang earring. Harry grinned and jogged over to shake his hand.

"Well, you've grown into a much more handsome bloke than I recall!" Bill crowed, garnering piercing glares and hisses of "Silence!" from the surrounding goblins.

"Old sourpusses." Bill laughed. "Always shushing me, saying I'm too loud. Quiet just doesn't cut it in the Weasley household, unless you're Dad, Charlie or Percy, still, I s'pose we should go on outside." He cast a merry wave back at the glowering goblins.

On the bank's steps, Harry stopped Bill. "This is, uh –"

"Mr. Brockman, I presume," Bill said, grinning broadly as he grabbed Snape's hand. "Pleasure!"

"Cert'ly," Snape muttered, slipping free of Bill's enthusiastic grip.

"Well, we'd better fly before Mum sends a Howler to the Ministry reporting us missing," Bill said.

"I haven't got me books yet!" Harry protested.

"Oh, right," said Ron. "Let's hurry! I'm starved…"

"It's too late," Bill said.

"What do you mean?" Hermione glanced at her watch. "It's not gone six yet."

In response, Bill nodded toward the street: Florean Fortescue was magically shifting his wrought iron bistro chairs to rest on the tables in front of his ice cream parlor, and an employee of WhizzHard Books had her wand out, dismantling a large sale book bin to bring inside. All along the narrow thoroughfare the shuttering of doors and windows echoed eerily as one by one shop lights began to wink out.

"By order o' the Ministry?" asked Snape, speaking low, even though the darkening street was empty of the pedestrians that had swarmed it only an hour ago.

"Yeah," Bill replied gravely. He gestured for everyone to start walking. "Took effect two days ago. You-Know-Who's people have been getting nastier. There's been an increase in vandalism of the stores whose owner's don't openly support him. Shopkeepers complained to the Ministry for doing nothing to combat it, but instead of helping, it ordered them to shut down early. Scrimgeour pleaded limited Auror's resources."

Ron gave a snort of disgust. "Dad can't stand him, Scrimgeour. Says since he's become minister, he's lost his boll –"

"Ron!" Hermione poked him sharply in his side.

"Actually, Ron's right," said Bill. "Even now, when everyone knows that You-Know-Who is back, the Ministry still seems determined to take a back seat."

"That's ridiculous!" Hermione said. "Why wouldn't they want to help? Goodness knows they need all the public goodwill they can get!"

"Well…" Bill eyed Harry, who blushed, "they're hoping another tactic will prove more effective." Snape growled darkly, prompting a knowing chuckle from Bill.

"You said _all_ the shops have been vandalized?" said Harry, so keen to ignore Bill's words, he missed Snape's reaction.

Bill grinned mischievously. "Well, there's always the exception, eh? Besides Knockturn Alley businesses, the only place that hasn't been hit is Fred and George's. They concocted some sort of repelling spell that not only sends you flying if you're up to no good, but it recognizes –" He glanced at Snape who was listening just as intently as the others.

"What?" Ron pressed.

"Er –" Bill stalled.

"Dark Marks, Mr. Weasley," Snape said, his lips barely moving. Hermione wrapped her arms around herself when Bill nodded. Harry glanced at Ron and knew instantly what the redhead was thinking.

"But, not everyone who has one is evil!" he burst out. He flashed a fierce look at Snape, whose ruddy farmer's complexion reddened further. Ron rolled his eyes exaggeratedly; Harry shot him a heated look, causing him to blush.

"Well, what exactly does the spell do?" Hermione asked, breaking the loaded silence.

"Tosses would-be vandals out into the street," Bill said. "They had me test it. It failed the first time, but the second time, I couldn't break it. I had a bruised backside for two weeks thanks to those jokers!" Bill chuckled. "None of Mum's old remedies or potions from St. Mungo's worked. Just had to let it heal naturally," he said, rather ruefully.

Harry looked over at him and couldn't help but snicker at the image of Bill Weasley, the essence of wizarding cool, wincing, and unable to sit comfortably. That got Ron going and soon Hermione was giggling along with them, making them laugh even harder. Snape caught Bill's eye, and in tandem, the two men rolled their eyes skyward.

"Let's go," Bill said, herding the teens up the pavement. "Let's see if Mum, Dad and Ginny have left yet."

"I'll go…" Ron said. He ran ahead to pound on the door of the only shop with lights on. Even if all the other shops' lights _had_ been on, Weasley's Wizard Wheezes would have outglitzed them all with its kaleidoscopic, headache-inducing display.

"Fred! George! Open up you gits!"

Seconds later the door was ripped open by an annoyed Weasley twin growling, "Oy! You 'bout gave us a bloody heart attack!"

"Oh, shut up Fred," Ron said. "_Harry_," he mouthed, "is with us. Let us in so he can see the shop before we leave."

Fred's face brightened as he searched the group for the dark haired boy. "Well of course, of course! Where is young Master Po –" Ron clapped a hand over his brother's mouth, shaking his head violently.

"Just let us in and we'll explain," Ron hissed just as someone up the street yelled for 'Cooper' to 'hurry up.'

Shoving Ron's hand away, Fred waved him inside. Hermione and Bill followed, but just as Bill was telling Fred that he would need to use the counter-spell to allow Snape in, a commotion erupted on the pavement. Harry, Snape, and George, who had come out to bring in a _'Don't have the stomach to Apparate! Go Muggle and_ _escape by skate!'_ display, were still outside the shop when someone crashed into Snape, who fell into Harry, sending George flying back inside the shop, with Harry landing on top of him.

Snape was shot back into the street, setting off a klaxon sounding alarm and a flood of light.

*WO

Harry scrambled to his feet, earning a groan from George after trodding on the redhead's back. Racing to Snape's side, he cringed at the all too familiar scenario of Snape on the bad end of magic. A flurry of activity sprung up around them, but Harry only had eyes for Snape who was conscious, but dazed.

"…damn!"

"My ears!"

"Damned idiot! …was that?"

"…turn… alarm _off_!"

The shop's lights winked out, extinguishing the garish orange spotlight on Snape. Seconds later, the alarm fell silent.

"Cooper!"

"What?"

"Are you dense, boy? You just knocked that man over, didn' you?"

"Sorry," Cooper whinged. "But you told me to hurry!"

"S'all right," Bill said, waving the father and son on; they had started back toward the melee. "We're fine."

"You sure, mate? That one hit the ground pretty hard, didn' he?"

The man tried to inch closer to peer around Fred, Bill and Ron, who were doing their best to shield Snape and Harry from view.

"S'nothing we can't take care of," said Fred, shopkeeper's grin pasted on his face.

"My boy, he must a' been runnin' full steam to knock your man that far adrift, eh?" The man boasted. "Bloody pill, he is, yeah?"

"More like bloody menace," Ron muttered, so that only his brothers could hear.

"Sure, sure," said Bill, trying to quash the impatience in his voice. "Thanks for the concern!"

As soon as the man and his son were a good distance away, Bill, Ron, and Fred rejoined the others.

"What the hell –" Harry snarled, gently lifting Snape's head.

"The spell!" Hermione said.

"Guess it work – Ow, _Hermi_ –!"

"Be _quiet_!" Bill growled.

"It shouldn't have worked!" Harry hissed.

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked.

"He doesn't have the Mark anymore!"

"_WHAT?_" Everyone exclaimed.

"He doesn't have it! Wormtail… burned it off!"

Hermione clapped a hand to her mouth and stomach, looking decidedly green; Fred and George swore loudly.

"Let's get him into the shop, Har – Oh, hell, let's just go!" Bill said.

Arms slung about Bill and Harry's shoulders, Snape leaned heavily on the two, but they could only grasp his arms to hold him up as his back was the source of agony. At the shop's entrance, he balked, but Harry murmured, "S'okay..."

Even so, Snape hesitated before venturing over the shop's threshold. Once inside, George led them back to his and Fred's office where Harry and Bill eased Snape onto a small sofa after George conjured a large fluffy pillow for his back. Soon, the tiny space was crammed with everyone save Fred who was busy locking up the front; moments later, he crowded into the doorway next to George. Crouched in front of Snape, Harry rested his hands on the man's knees, his hazel eyes liquid with worry.

"Is there anythin' I can do?" Harry's voice was quiet, but it sounded like the peal of a church bell in the oddly still room; it unsettled him. He shifted to look up at everyone. "Could yeh give us a minute?"

For ten full seconds, no one moved or spoke. Finally, George blinked, realizing he and the others were gawking at Snape and Harry as if they were monkeys in a zoo. To lighten the mood and shift the focus off the two blonds, he cleared his throat to speak in his best Muggle butler impression: "You heard Ma_h_ster Po_h_tter, let us repa_h_r to the sales floor, shall we?"

Harry smiled briefly in appreciation. George winked at him as the others obediently scooted past, then he shut the door. Harry looked back at Snape and said the first thing to come to mind.

"We should go ho –" Harry quickly clamped his eyes and mouth shut, mortified at what he had almost said. 'Home?' With _Snape_? What had he been thinking? He kept his eyes tightly closed against the disgust, horror, or whatever unsavory expression he expected to find on Snape's face.

"Potter," said Snape, voice hoarse with pain. Harry opened his eyes. "Firs', dinner –"

"No!" Harry gripped the man's knees gently. Snape's expression was that of a man trying to stave off a shout or groan of pain; Harry mentally kicked himself; of course, the man was in pain.

"You're hurt! You can' sit through some dumb dinner! We'll go now." He stood up, decided. "I'll just git Bill in here –"

"No," Snape groaned. He pointed a thick finger at Harry. "Yeh… heal me…"

"What! I can'!" Harry sputtered, suspecting the pain had affected Snape's reasoning. Why else would he willingly volunteer himself when neither knew for certain Harry could perform healing magic without possibly aggravating the pain – or worse? Harry knew he couldn't – _wouldn't _– be responsible for that.

"Le'me go git Bill!" he pleaded, accent thickening as he grew more upset. He made to leave, but Snape swiftly latched onto his wrist. When he groaned at the effort, Harry quickly relented.

"Jus' concentrate," Snape gasped, "on what yeh... wan'." Harry was nearly undone at the man's next words. "Trus' yeh… I know yeh can do it."

"No, I don' wan' ter hurt yeh…" Harry said softly. Instinctively, he took Snape's hand in his, squeezing gently; when Snape squeezed back, Harry's eyes welled up. "Yeh really wan' me ter do this?"

Snape jerked his head up and down as a stab of pain gripped him. Though rife with misgivings, Harry moved to sit next to him, then gently eased Snape forward so that he could lay hands on his back. Breathing shallowly, Snape rested his head on his arms; Harry blinked, amazed at how readily the innately stoic man had surrendered his well-being to him, but instead of firing his confidence, that naked trust invited paralyzing thoughts of inadequacy and fear.

Healing Fang's ear had been a fluke, purely unintentional, and Harry wondered how he could now consciously do the same for Snape. With Fang, he recalled that helpless, guilty feeling, making him desperate for the dog to be okay, but again, he hadn't been conscious of doing magic. And it wasn't that he wasn't just as desperate to relieve Snape's pain, it was just undeniably different. As much as Harry had come to love Fang, Snape was a different animal – literally. If something went wrong, he couldn't bear it. Not now.

Then Snape groaned again, and suddenly, Harry was willing to do anything, go to any lengths to relieve the man's pain. He decided that if something did go wrong, Bill and the others were just the other side of the door, and St. Mungo's was close. But, more importantly, Snape believed he could do this; he hadn't asked to be taken to hospital – he had asked Harry to help him.

With that in mind, Harry forced himself to focus. "_Jus' concentrate on what yeh... wan'.._." He closed his eyes, took a breath.

_Heal Snape, make him better! _

Instantly, a rush of energy poured forth from his fingers, causing him to marvel at how remarkably different it was from what he now thought of as his 'normal' wandless magic. This magic, this healing magic, overwhelmed him with a surprising depth of feeling. It was like a chorus of warmth washing over him.

It echoed how he felt every time Snape had unquestioningly treated every ache he had complained about. After overindulging in Mrs. Weasley's treacle tart, Snape hadn't thought to scold Harry, but had simply served up a potion to ease his queasy stomach. Then one weekend, when felled by a vicious summer cold, Pepper-Up Potion had failed to relieve Harry's symptoms, and Snape had prodded him to drink what tasted like straight Scotch disguised as a hot toddy; Harry had giggled goofily for fifteen minutes before passing out. In his haze of congestion and stuffiness, he wondered how a Pure-blood Slytherin came to know such a common Muggle treatment. But Pure-blood or no, having the ability to return the favor filled Harry with sheer, unadulterated elation.

_This is easy_, he thought, delighting in the lush, light energy flowing out of him, making him tingle all over. _I could do this all day! This is what magic should be about! Helping people you care about, people you lo –_

"_Potter!_" A voice echoed, calling to him from far away. "POTTER!"

Harry choked as his hands were clapped tightly together, abruptly severing the flow of magic. Spent, he collapsed against the solid presence next to him, and curled into the arm wrapped snugly around his shoulders. A large hand gently cupped his head, bringing it to rest against a spicy-smelling chest, the heart within galloping like a thoroughbred.

At Snape's shout, a commotion erupted outside the door. It burst open, Ron's roar leading the charge.

"What the hell did you do to him?"

Snape responded by casting a flinty gaze up at the boy; Ron fell back a step.

"Professor... what happened?" Hermione looked down at Harry slumped against Snape. Kneeling, she peered at the boy intently, clearly wanting him to wake up and tell them what had happened, but Harry remained silent and unmoving. She turned to Snape, eyes demanding and fearless.

Hers were not the only ones.

"I asked him ter heal me," Snape said quietly. Awed gasps filled the room.

"Why's he out like that?" Ron said, either unimpressed or too worried about Harry to comprehend that he had just healed Snape with magic.

"He expended a lot o' energy," Snape said, as plainly as he would to a toddler. "He jus' got a li'l carried away… I think."

"Carried away?" Ron said. "He looks…"

"...happy," Hermione said, noting the loopy grin at Harry's lips. She grasped his hand, squeezing gently.

Ron's lip curled in disgust. "More like Imperi –" He fell silent at a hard glance from Bill.

Hermione frowned, then her expression cleared. "In one of his letters, he mentioned how 'a lot had happened…' So he's done this before? For you?"

"Aye." Snape swallowed audibly. "Bu' not fer me… He splinched Fang's ear… T'were an accident, bu' he took it hard. He held the dog fer a mo' or two, an'… he healed him."

When Harry moaned softly, Snape shifted him so that Harry's head rested more comfortably against his chest.

Refusing to let the 'happy' comment go unchallenged, Ron said, "Why would Harry be hap –"

Bill gripped his arm tightly. "Not _now_," he whispered forcefully. Annoyed, Ron jerked free of him.

Hermione startled when Harry squeezed her hand. "Harry?"

Snape looked down to find the boy smiling sleepily at her.

"Hey, H'rmi'nee," he said. She laughed, blinking back tears. "Where… Dad?"

Silence descended like the blade of a guillotine in the tiny office.

"Who?" Hermione squeaked.

"Snape – where's he? S' he okay?" Harry asked, unaware he was leaning against the object of his concern.

Ten pairs of stunned eyes slowly locked onto Snape.

Looking like Fang caught raiding the biscuit tin, he stammered, "H-he's exhausted – don' know wha' he's sayin'!"

"Sounded dead clear to me," Bill said, looking as if he were biting the inside of his cheek to prevent laughter escaping.

At a loss to dream up a more disturbing scenario Ron's mouth moved soundlessly; Fred and George eyed one another as though they had come into possession of every counter-curse to Gringott's vaults; Hermione simply gazed at Snape, a Mona Lisa-like smile quirking her lips. When he looked away, clearly uncomfortable, she cast her attention back to Harry, who looked achingly content leaning against Snape. When she and the others burst into the room, she hadn't failed to notice the man gently stroking Harry's hair; despite his stuttering reaction only seconds ago, he was still doing it.

Beginning to feel like a pickled toad on display, Harry sat up straighter. Snape did the same, taking care to remove his arm from around Harry and lean away from him.

"What happened?" Harry asked, sounding clearer, more aware. He looked to Snape, who was studiously avoiding his eyes.

"You healed the Professor," Fred said.

"I did?" Harry looked the man over, grinning excitedly. "It worked?"

"Aye, Potter," Snape grunted. "…Thank yeh."

"Great!" Harry looked around happily, but his smile faltered at the variety of expressions on everyone's face. "Why do yeh all look so... weird?"

"We can talk about it later, Harry," said Bill, a wry grin curling his lips. "Mum's sure to think You-Know-Who has us strung up in a dungeon somewhere. We need to go… If you're up to it, Professor?"

"I'm fine, Mr. Weasley." Snape stood easily, leaving no doubt he was healed.

With everyone gathered outside the shop's entrance, Fred and George muttered their anti-vandal spell; Snape kept well away. As the group set off up the street, Harry rubbed his eyes. He felt a bit drained, but the tingly feeling he'd felt while healing Snape, lingered pleasantly. Feeling Snape's eyes on him, he shifted to give the man a warm smile; Snape nodded curtly, but that was all.

*WO

**The Glass Hoof, Ottery St. Catchpole, August 1996**

On the London street outside the Leaky Cauldron, everyone paired up to Apparate to the Glass Hoof. As Snape was unfamiliar with it, Bill took Harry, Fred took Hermione, George took Ron, and Bill returned for Snape. Harry had barely recovered from the Side-Along Apparition when he was set upon by Mrs. Weasley outside the pub.

"I was beginning to think He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named must've got hold of you lot and strung you up in a dungeon somewhere," she said, gripping Harry in a rib-crushing hug. Bill rolled his eyes at him in an 'I told you so' manner. Harry laughed – as soon as he could catch his breath.

With one arm around his sore ribs, he shook hands with Mr. Weasley. Ginny gave him a gentle hug, then ran a hand through his hair, teasing him about his 'tamed mane.' Shortly, Fred and Hermione popped into existence, the latter grinning happily, having obviously enjoyed her first Side-Along Apparition. Snape and Bill were the last to arrive and when they did, everyone gathered around a large round table in a private room at the back of the pub, chattering noisily.

Renowned amongst wizarding locals, the Glass Hoof was a Tudor-era pub located on the outskirts of Ottery St. Catchpole. For generations, families, including the Weasleys, Lovegoods, Diggorys and Longbottoms, had all celebrated weddings, birthdays and some funerals there. But there were other families whose pedigree, though not as esteemed, were welcomed just the same. The families' rejection of Pure-blood dogma fostered a close-knit bond, but it was also a lightning rod for danger, thus, the pub's location was protected by the Fidelius Charm.

The cozy room they had commandeered smelled so strongly of shepherd's pie, mead, and pipe smoke, Harry believed the wood used to construct the pub had been infused with them. Nevertheless, he reveled in the scents as well as the cheerful din of those around him.

Ron, sitting to his left, was fighting off George who was trying to remove a smudge of dirt from Ron's cheek resulting from the spill he'd taken outside the pub after Apparating. On his right, Hermione was laughing into her hands at something Bill said. On the other side of the table, Snape sat next to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. Harry glanced over to find all three of them looking at him. He blushed and ducked his head when he made contact with Mrs. Weasley's ever tear-filled eyes. Next to Hermione, Fred and Ginny were conversing; Harry raised his head sharply at the mention of Percy.

"You've been in contact with him, then?" Hermione asked.

George nodded. "Yeah, he wised up when Scrimgeour tried to get him to spy on us."

"What!" Harry gasped.

Fred nodded grimly. "Ol' Scrimgeour knew Percy'd split with the family, but he figured Percy could still find out where you were 'cause you and Ron are close. He told Percy that if he didn't get the information, he'd see to it he no longer had a job. Said he was lucky he and the rest of Fudge's lackeys hadn't ended up in Azkaban after failing to properly investigate claims of You-Know-Who being back."

Mirroring his twin's sneer, George said, "He went on, quoting rubbish from the _Prophet_, calling Percy a willing participant in a Ministry cover-up. Never mind that he was just as heavily involved with Ministry stuff as Head Auror."

"Percy was terrified they might threaten him with something worse, like hurting us, so… he actually agreed to do it for a while," Ginny said, reddening a bit.

"_He_ told Scrimgeour I was at Hogwarts?"

Mr. Weasley, his balding pate shiningly reflecting the light of the chandelier overhead, nodded sheepishly as the adults were now drawn into the conversation. No one missed the angry narrowing of Snape's eyes at Mr. Weasley's admission of his third son's behavior; Mrs. Weasley gently patted his hand in an effort to soothe him. Snape looked down, then schooled his features to reflect cool indifference, but those china blue eyes still burned.

"Was weird," Ron said, picking up the thread of the story. "Y'know Percy would have done anything to move up in the Ministry, but one day he just spilled everything to Dad, told him what Scrimgeour was up to."

"But, Scrimgeour wouldn't have harmed anyone... would he? Just to get to me?"

Mr. Weasley shook his head. "I think it was just an extraordinarily effective bluff," he said. "Rufus was Head of the Auror Department and a protégé of Moody's. The man's a seasoned interrogator trained to get information out of the slickest criminal. I just wish Percy had come to me sooner instead of telling Rufus where you were."

"That's why you said what you did to Malfoy..." Harry said to Ron.

"Yeah, I'm sure his 'sources' are telling him that Percy's happily playing Scrimgeour's lapdog," Ron said. Though Ron had treated Percy rather cruelly when he broke with the family, there was no mistaking the blatant note of pride now coloring his voice.

"Do you think Percy will be able to keep up the charade?" asked Hermione.

"He knows what he's doing," Bill said, but his eyes flicked to his father; Mr. Weasley managed a tight smile for his son.

Everyone turned when Mrs. Weasley sniffed. Alarmed, Snape whipped out his pocket square and passed it to her. She smiled at him gratefully and dabbed at her eyes.

"He's in such danger," she sobbed, "and we've only just come together a-again."

"Molly, dear," said Mr. Weasley, putting his arm around her shoulders. "Percy is much too clever to allow himself to be caught. Plus, he knows what to do if he feels that he's been compromised in _any_ way. We've talked about this."

"I know… It's just…"

"Mum," George said. "Percy'll be all right. Fred and me have seen to it that he's got a decent stock of Decoy Detonators and U-No-Poo. If he's found out, the shi –!"

"George!" Mrs. Weasley screamed.

Raucous laughter broke out around the table as Fred mimed the consequences of ingesting one of their shop's hottest items. Harry caught Snape's eye; taking in Fred's antics, the man cocked a pale eyebrow as if to say, _Gryffindors_. Harry grinned and ducked his head.

"So, what's goin' on with you and Snape?" Ron asked, now that everyone else was properly distracted. Harry thought his tone gruffer than necessary.

"He's been training me all summer," he said, grin sliding from his face, "or hadn't you heard?"

"Look, it's just weird seeing you two acting like you are!"

"Like how, exactly?" Harry could feel his skin heating.

Ron leaned in close, and whispered harshly, "You called him _Dad_ back at the shop!"

"I didn'!" Harry sputtered and whipped around to Hermione for confirmation; her half-baked smile told him otherwise. Bewildered, Harry looked at Snape again, but he was deep in conversation with Mr. Weasley. Harry racked his brain for what he had said in Fred and George's office: Had he really called Snape, _Dad_?

"Well, tha's his role, innit?" Harry shot back defensively and he hoped, convincingly.

"If you say so, but – you haven't been calling him that all summer, have you?" asked Ron, his puckered expression remarkably similar to Lucius Malfoy's outside Madam Malkin's.

"No, I haven't! Not that it's any of your business!"

"_Guys_," Hermione said, lightly touching Harry's arm. "We're supposed to be enjoying dinner, not arguing…"

"Yeah, give it a rest," Bill said, looking pointedly at Ron.

Ron snapped his mouth shut and angrily plunked his elbows on the table. He cursed when his left elbow landed in something cold and squishy. Bringing it up to get a look, he spied the uncovered dish of sour cream that hadn't been there a moment ago. Fuming, his eyes landed on the twins who were conveniently engaged in conversation with a quivering Pygmy Puff George was holding in his hand.

"Elbows off the table, Ron," said Mrs. Weasley.

"Yeah, Ron, elbows off the table!" chorused the twins.

*WO


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer: JK Rowling's characters.

**Soth-ince Den, Lizard Point, Cornwall, August 1996 (22)**

"Well done," Snape said.

Harry's face went charmingly slack-jawed with incredulity; he'd just cast a nonverbal Shield Charm that held up to Snape's best efforts to penetrate it. Finally, after all these weeks, after all the struggles, all the rows, and innumerable failures, he'd done it! He'd impressed Snape! He couldn't stop a self-satisfied grin from blooming across his face. Snape hitched an eyebrow in amusement.

Apparently the mood was infectious as Fang began bounding around the two wizards, barking madly. His boisterous actions eventually knocked Harry off his feet. In an instant, Snape grasped the dog's collar, tugging on it so that he didn't trample the boy. His unlikely reward for this good deed was Fang turning on him and pawing him to the ground. The boarhound then perched his heavy body across Snape's chest, pinning him down in canine triumph. Harry howled with laughter when Fang sloppily licked the man's face before lowering his head to his paws.

"Oh, you great mutt, get off!" Snape snarled. He then shoved at Fang, who grunted softly at each push, but wouldn't be budged.

After a moment, Harry stumbled to his feet, but he was still laughing too hard to stand up straight. Having given up trying to free himself, Snape eyed the boy expectantly, but when Harry made no immediate moves to help, Snape growled, "Potter! Get this monster off of me!"

Harry rubbed at his chin, pretending to contemplate the situation – then Snape's gaze narrowed ominously. Harry had no real fear of Snape hurting him, but the man exacted revenge the way he taught Potions – with skillful indifference.

While training one day, Harry accidently spelled Snape's hair yellow. Gaping at the man in horror, he tried to change it back; it turned orange. At that point, Snape's nostrils began to flap and flare so menacingly, Harry fancied wisps of smoke would soon unfurl from them. When he tried once again to reverse the spell's ill effects, a cheery holiday green erupted from Snape's head, contrasting horribly with his sallow skin. Harry, whose lips had been twitching since his second attempt, burst out laughing.

"I'm s-sorry!" He doubled over, gasping for air as Snape charged past him to enter the cottage. After taking a few moments to get his laughter and breathing under control, Harry followed. When he didn't find Snape in the sitting room or the kitchen, he knocked on the man's bedroom door, but there was no answer._ Silencing Charm, _he thought.

In apology for the wayward spell, he rose earlier than usual the next morning to prepare a breakfast tray for Snape. Just as he finished loading it, the man turned up in the kitchen, his hair jet black. Harry contemplated saying he was sorry, but decided against it as Snape silently dished up food to fill both their plates. Their day continued as normal, and as Snape displayed no outward signs of anger or upset, Harry forgot about the spell.

However, that night at dinner, a strange tickling sensation erupted along his ribs and nose causing him to simultaneously giggle and sneeze loudly. After a few moments of Snape's sidelong glances, he excused himself to the loo, where his symptoms eased, then faded. He then rejoined Snape at the table, but as soon as his rump settled in his chair, the sensation began again. He sneezed explosively into the crook of his elbow, and was about to excuse himself, when through his watering eyes, he caught Snape eyeing him smugly.

"I daid I wuz dowwy!"

Eventually, Snape had taken mercy on him and released the spell, but with that memory in mind, and a thought to what else the man might have tucked away in his arsenal of vengeance, Harry whistled to the dog then mimed throwing something. Fang shot off after it, barking joyously.

"Mangy menace," Snape grumbled, sitting up to brush grass and dog hair from his chest. Harry snorted and rolled his eyes, knowing the man's outrage to be an awful sham. The rare day passed that he didn't pepper the dog with treats in his efforts to train him – or even when he wasn't. When lying on the sofa engrossed in a book, one hand would always be draped over the side, long fingers absently scratching Fang's large head.

Taking in the man's disheveled appearance Harry gallantly offered him a hand up. Snape considered it, grasped it, and with an evil chuckle – he tugged! Screeching, Harry flew toward the ground, flailing wildly, but in a flash, Snape brandished his wand, casting a charm to cushion Harry's fall. Then, quick as a cat, he was on his feet, towering over the boy while languidly running his wand along his robes to rid them of dust. Harry gaped at him, speechless.

"Yes?" Snape said, an ill-disguised, ill-placed innocence marking his sharp features.

"Y-you… you..." Harry stammered, flabbergasted.

"Dear, dear." The man purred. "Perhaps in addition to your magical training, we should have worked on improving your abysmal verbal skills..."

Harry huffed in disbelief. Snape was_ playing _with him! This couldn't go unchallenged! He'd just stymied Snape's attempt to crack his Shield Charm, and he was young, and, well, to be frank, he was a Gryffindor – Snape was not. Feeling cocky, and eager to show the man a thing or two, he bound to his feet as deftly as Snape had.

"Okay," he said, with a taunting sneer. "What say we start, now?"

Snape eyed Harry as if he was a troublesome piece of lint, and then dropped into a defensive stance. Harry smirked, carefully edging alongside the man, speculating how best to incapacitate him. Binding spell? Tripping hex? But just as he was dismissing those as too elementary, he stopped in his tracks.

Just over Snape's shoulder, Harry spied Fang racing full tilt in their direction, his large padded feet, soundless on the grass.

He tried not to make any sudden moves that might tip Snape off to the dog-shaped missile behind him, but he couldn't control the smile curling his lips. Snape caught the devious look, and turned, but too late; the dog was already airborne. Harry quickly dipped and darted to the left, easily evading Fang's playful tackle that would have taken both him and Snape down. Properly distracted by Harry's ploy, the dog fixed on his new target – a horrified looking Snape. As hound and prey collided, Harry grabbed his stomach and rocked back and forth, laughter already erupting from his throat.

"Arrgh!" Snape cried, quite inarticulately, Harry smugly noted. The man went down, arms pin-wheeling ineffectively just before being flattened, the victim of yet another canine tongue lashing. But this time, instead of trying to force the dog up and off him, Snape surrendered to it, then began rubbing Fang's coat furiously. Instantly, the dog rolled onto his side, his gangly legs paddling the grass in delight as Snape scratched his belly. This display was followed by the breathtaking sound of Snape laughing.

Harry stared, stunned to hear Snape, the man who clung to solemnity like the proverbial dog with a bone, laughing. He wouldn't dare describe the hauntingly dark and mellow sound as joyful, but its unfettered spontaneity made Harry feel privileged. He found himself a bit jealous that Fang had been the one to wring the warm tones from the man, yet he was glad in that they were occurring at all. Shaking his head, he walked toward the lanky duo. Snape released Fang, who padded over to sit before Harry, offering his paw. Harry shook it and squatted down to plant a rewarding kiss on the dog's broad forehead.

"Good boy!" He praised, grinning.

"Bloody terrors, both of you," Snape groaned as he got to his feet.

Harry opened his mouth to reply, but was nearly bowled over by Fang once again. The dog streaked off in the direction of the hill where they normally entered through the magical boundary, barking furiously. Well attuned to the differences in the dog's barks and moods, Snape came alert instantly.

Seemingly innocuous, Fang's training had involved more than simple parlor tricks of fetch and sit. Harry had witnessed the man leading the boarhound around the property's edges instructing him with verbal commands as well as distinctive hand signals; he had never known Fang to be as attentive as when Snape was testing him. When Harry broached the subject, Snape had encouraged him to work with the dog as well, schooling him on the finer points of the intricate training. Though not as attuned to Fang as Snape was, it was clear to Harry that danger was just the other side of the boundary.

He squinted in the direction the dog had gone to see that Fang had already crested the hill and was bouncing agitatedly in tight circles at the entry point. Fearing for his safety, Harry whistled sharply. Without hesitation, Fang dashed back to his side, growling deeply, his eyes riveted on the spot he'd just left.

"Who do you think it is?" Harry turned to Snape, his stomach a bubbling mass of worry, and fear.

"I don't know." Snape's gaze was as acutely focused as Fang's, anticipating, primed for anything.

"They can't get through the boundary, right?"

Snape shook his head distractedly. "I don't fear they shall penetrate it, but how do they even know it exists?"

Harry knew Snape must be thinking aloud, because he had no better idea of the answer than Snape did. Then, a flurry of lights erupted, aimed at the boundary.

Snape growled dangerously. "The fools! In broad daylight…"

"But, there's no one there!"

"Disillusioned…" Snape hissed.

"What do we do?"

Their first night in the valley Snape had familiarized Harry with an emergency Portkey charmed to remove him to Hogwarts should anything untoward arise. As things were Harry knew their only option was to flee, but at that moment his only thought was of how desperately he wanted to stay.

The idea of a forced leaving filled him with a helpless outrage. After all the horrors early on in the summer, why couldn't they be left in peace? Why did the outside world have to infringe on their lives right now? Just when he and Snape –

"Into the cottage, Harry! Now!" Snape bellowed, jolting Harry out of his thoughts. "You know where the Portkey is…" The man said, by way of farewell, Harry realized, for one second Snape was at his side, and the next, he was running headlong toward the lights bounding off the magical marker.

"NO!" Harry screamed.

Whether Snape didn't hear or he purposely ignored him, Harry didn't know, but instinct kicked in and he tore off after the man, a barking Fang already several strides ahead. Spurred on by a deep, abiding fear, Harry pushed his legs to go faster, to reach Snape. He made sure to never lose sight of the man's lean figure as Snape flew up the hillside, and a moment later, he saw that Snape had reached the boundary and had his wand out casting his own spells, frantically reinforcing what powerful magic already existed.

Harry was halfway up the hill, perhaps twenty strides from Snape, when a red light sliced through the barrier, striking the man. Harry's heart stopped. Knocked off balance, Snape rolled a short way down the hill. Fang howled as if wounded then blazed a trail to where the man had come to rest.

Watching Snape fall ignited a burning anger within Harry, scorching his veins so that it seeped out of his pores – a liquid hate. That black emotion quickly rendered the surrounding atmosphere electric, causing it to crackle darkly with raw, unrestrained power. Though his breathing was preternaturally calm, the hair on his arms and neck stood stiff at attention, making his skin painfully sensitive to the slightest puff of air. His eyes, blackened with rage and pain, focused sharply on the spot the spell had breached, forging a deadly tunnel vision.

_Untraceable_, he thought coldly. _It'd be so easy to be rid of them, to kill them_. _So easy_…_ My magic is untraceable._

Suddenly, Fang's anguished howls of pain gave way to howls of fear. The dog had been around Harry practicing his magic, had even been a reluctant participant, but he had never been genuinely afraid of or threatened by it – until now. Recognizing the frightening difference in the boy's energy, he began to butt his head against Harry's legs. When the boy didn't respond, he firmly gripped Harry's left hand in his mouth and bit down – not enough to break the skin, but hard enough to get his attention.

At the feel of those sharp teeth, Harry closed his eyes, trying to rein in his emotions. It was hard, because here he was, once again, at Voldemort's mercy. Worse still, Snape was, too. Harry could hardly breathe for the sight of the man lying unmoving, still as a corpse.

He cursed himself a fool, so blindly complacent, so eager to believe that until September first he was guaranteed peace, a respite from the hell that had been his life in recent weeks. Certainly, when he had first come to Soth-ince he hadn't believed that, but things had changed. He had come to a point where he no longer wanted to wallow in the horrors of losing Sirius, Remus, and the Dursleys; he had wanted only to be left alone, if only for a little while. But, the sight of those spells and curses hitting the boundary, and the sight of Snape being cursed, reaffirmed that there was no peace to be had. None.

That yearning for peace, that blissful ignorance, had proved costly. Look what it had wrought – Snape, standing once again between him and Voldemort, taking the brunt of the punishment. Harry knew that Voldemort would hunt Snape regardless, but he couldn't help the niggling feeling of guilt that if Dumbledore hadn't charged Snape with looking after him, the man would likely be safe out in the world, disguised and well-hidden. But that wasn't the matter of the moment, was it?

He had to do something to make _this_ world safe, again, and this world, his world right now was this man – _Please, don't let him be dead _– this bit of land, and the anxious dog beside him.

He wouldn't let Voldemort just kill him, wouldn't be a victim. He could fight back. Snape had taught him how. With that in his mind, Harry inhaled deeply, forcing his heart beat to slow, and he began to focus on what he wanted to happen. Envisioning black-robed, white-masked intruders, he began to chant softly:

"_Disarm them, make them go away! Disarm them, make them go away! Disarm them make them go away, disarmthemmakethemgoaway, disarmthemmakethemgoaway, _NOW!"

From the other side of the boundary there issued a mix of surprised yells, a loud resounding _crack_, then silence. Harry slowly opened his eyes to see Fang sniffing along the boundary's point of entry. He then turned to Harry and barked. Waving his tail happily, he trotted over to Snape. Feeling unsteady, Harry staggered over to join them. Groaning at the sight of the motionless man, he dropped to his knees beside him.

"P-professor?" Harry's hand waveredas he placed it on Snape's chest. The man was breathing, but he was frighteningly still. Without thought Harry incanted, "_Rennervate_." When Snape's eyes sprang open, Harry exhaled harshly, suddenly dizzy.

"Where are they?" Snape jerked up to a sitting position, whipping his head about, eyes frantically taking in the area.

"Gone..." Harry blinked rapidly, trying to focus on Snape.

Snape turned to him and looked him over, trying to absorb every inch of him with his eyes. "You're all right?"

Harry bobbed his head unsteadily. The concern riddling Snape's face warmed him, but the realization that the man could have been killed hit him with the force of a locomotive; his eyes flooded with tears. Snape sighed and reached for him. Harry went willingly, collapsing bonelessly into the warm circle of the man's arms.

"Harry…" There it was again, his name, but it was whispered so softly, and with such care, Harry had little choice but to let go of his emotions.

"They could have k-killed you!" He sobbed into Snape's neck.

It took Snape a long time to reply. When he did, he sounded oddly hoarse: "But I'm fine… We're both fine."

Soothed by the steady thump of Snape's heart, Harry's tears slowed to a trickle then stopped.

After a quiet moment, Snape cleared his throat. "I must repair the boundary."

Harry heaved a sigh as Snape released him. With great reluctance, he straightened up and got to his feet, following Snape.

"What did you do to them?" he asked.

"Dunno..." said Harry, feeling more than a bit sapped now that things were calm. "I jus' wanted 'em to go away,"

"Where?"

Harry shrugged as they neared the boundary. "They could be just the other side of the hill or Timbuktu. Maybe I only stunned 'em..."

He described what he had done and what he had heard. Snape nodded and ventured forward to cross to the other side.

"No!" Harry grabbed his arm.

"I must see who or what, is over there," Snape said, picking up his wand from where it landed when he fell. "Stay here." His dark eyes were hard, demanding obedience.

Harry glared after him, stubbornly, but he stayed put – sort of. Unable to help himself, he inched closer to the boundary, so close he felt the tingle of magic against the toes of his trainers. Seconds later, Snape nearly knocked into him as he stepped back through. He tossed four wands to the ground where Fang gave them a perfunctory sniff before lifting his leg over them. Snape then raised his wand and began muttering, pointing it at the failed entrance.

"Will we be able to stay, or do we have to leave?" Harry looked out longingly at the valley.

"It's probably best that we go."

"Where?" Harry asked, his question harking back several weeks to the hospital wing when he'd asked the same thing. Then he hadn't wanted to go anywhere with Snape.

"Well, as there are less than two weeks until school begins, we could return to Hogwarts."

Harry scowled. "What about Dumbledore?"

Snape considered the area he'd been reinforcing, then turned to face Harry. "It's likely he'll not be there as he has obligations outside the castle. But even if he is, he won't interfere with your training."

Snape sounded confident, determined even, but Harry found that certainty hard to swallow. Dumbledore had been interfering in his life since before he had even come to Hogwarts, since before he had even known he was a wizard. Why would that change simply because Snape said so?

Noting the conflicted look on Harry's face, Snape said, "Potter, he is only your headmaster while at school, nothing more. He has no claim to you."

Again, Harry flashed back to the hospital wing. Raw with the loss of Sirius, he had relished refusing Snape's demand that he sit down to eat, believing himself beholden to no adult, especially Snape. But, now that Snape had just unwittingly clarified that in no uncertain terms he was on his own – alone – Harry was shocked to discover that old feeling of rebellion and independence vanished, usurped by a visceral desire to belong to someone.

"Yeah," he sighed, absently toeing the wet wands lying discarded on the ground. "Where else is there to go?"

Snape waited a beat before saying, "There's Grimm –"

"No!"

"Potter, our options are severely limited, you must consider the –"

"I'm not going back there!"

"Do_ not_ raise your voice to me! I am not one of your Housemates to whom you can speak any way you wish!"

"Yeah, well, you're not my dadeither! _No one_ has any claim to me… remember?"

Snape reeled, looking as if Harry had just slapped him. He then turned abruptly on his heel and stalked back to the cottage.

*WO

Approaching the cottage, Harry found the door open. Snape was on the sofa, flexing his hands.

"Are they bothering you?" Harry asked quietly. He wasn't sure what had sparked Snape's earlier reaction, but given what they had just been through he didn't want to antagonize the man any more than necessary.

"It's not unbearable," Snape grumbled, trying hard to mask a grimace.

Wordlessly, Harry went to sit on the coffee table in front of him. He settled his knees close then reached to take one of the man's hands in his. Snape simply sank back into the sofa, leaning his head back against a pillow as Harry gently massaged his hand. Fang hauled his bulk up to lie next to Snape then flopped his head onto the man's thigh. With his free hand, Snape reached out to gingerly rub the dog's neck.

"I really –" Harry began. Snape lifted his head and glared at him.

"Potter, if you apologize to me, I shall –"

"Hex me 'til you can't hex anymore! I know, I know!" Harry glared back just as furiously. "What I was _going_ to say was that… I really don't want to go to Hogwarts… Least, not 'til school starts," he said in a more normal tone. "I don't want to have to deal with Dumbledore."

"Well, we cannot stay here," Snape said with a tired sigh. "We should probably be gone already."

As Harry began to massage Snape's other hand, he began to feel bad for refusing to go to Grimmauld Place. But, knowing Dumbledore might choose to pop in at anytime, and that Order members would always be in and out treating the house as a way station instead of a home, did little to make it appealing. Even more disturbing was that Sirius would lurk in every shadow, corner, and hollow. No, not Grimmauld Place. Never.

At the distressed look on Harry's face, Snape said, with some reticence, "There is another option..."

*WO

Minutes later, Snape and Harry were packed and ready to depart, arriving at their destination courtesy of the emergency Portkey. The stomach churning journey ended abruptly upon landing in a shuttered room, which, when its wall sconces came to life, revealed itself as a dusty, cluttered store room.

"Where's this?" Harry asked, coughing and fanning the dust motes stirred up from their arrival.

"The Hog's Head," Snape responded. He strode to a soot-covered lamp to tap it with his wand. When it glowed blue, he seemed to relax.

"Why here?" Harry regarded the man and the room curiously.

"It's a secure location."

"The Hog's Head is as secure as Hogwarts?" Harry asked, astonished.

"Yes."

Dissatisfied with Snape's dry, monosyllabic explanation, Harry opened his mouth to retort, but then a knock sounded outside the room. Snape didn't move, but merely watched as a drab, rotted armoire morphed into a portal through which a tall, thin elderly man with long, gray hair walked.

"Severus!"

"Aberforth," Snape replied, extending his hand. The old wizard ignored it to draw Snape into his arms. Harry watched, dumbfounded, as Snape stood rod-like against Aberforth, his arms held frozen at his sides. Then for the second time that day, Harry saw the man surrender. After a moment the tightness in his body eased and he let his chin fall to rest on Aberforth's shoulder. He then raised his arms to hesitantly return the embrace.

"It does me well to see you," Aberforth said, his normally gruff voice made even gruffer with emotion. He then took Snape's face in his hands and pushed a heavy lock of black hair behind his ear to gently pat a sallow cheek.

"And you, sir," Snape said, swallowing against a tiny quaver in his own voice. "It is not my wish to trouble you –"

"Hush! I'll not listen to rubbish!"

Speechless, Harry continued to gawk inelegantly at the strangely emotional scene. Finally, Aberforth released Snape to briskly look him up and down, reminding Harry of how Snape often perused him, as if inventorying that all his limbs were intact. Harry couldn't help smirking as Snape blushed; then Aberforth turned his attention to him.

The Aberforth Harry met last year had been a grumpy, spectacle-wearing barkeep who never seemed to have a clean rag at hand. Though still rough around the edges with his scratchy voice, frayed robes, and keen, yet battle-weary blue eyes, this oddly sentimental wizard greeting Snape as though he was his child was wholly unexpected.

Harry frowned, confused, prompting the old wizard to chuckle – it sounded like someone trying to start an old car.

"You're looking well, Mr. Potter." Aberforth crossed the room to rest his hands on Harry's shoulders, giving him the same once-over he had just afforded Snape, but instead of feeling uneasy for having a relative stranger take in his appearance as if they were long-time acquaintances, Harry felt warm and comforted.

"Severus has taken excellent care of you, I see."

Snape grunted from his spot in the room. Aberforth cast a wily wink at Harry.

"By now Mr. Potter, I'm sure that you are privy to the fact that our Severus is not nearly as diabolical as his reputation would have many believe, yes? Those forbidding robes and that chilling sneer…" Aberforth snorted softly. "The common stranger might think he was out to nick their children and serve them up for tea!"

Harry couldn't help but laugh as Snape sighed and huffed as though he were indeed dismayed at being perceived as anything other than diabolical. But, the muted twinkle in the old man's blue eyes was so familiar that Harry was again frowning with questions.

"Before we get into who I am and why you're here, what say we tuck into a fine meal? Hungry?"

In response, Harry's stomach growled lustily.

"Just a bit peckish then, eh?" Aberforth smiled as Harry blushed. He then pulled out his wand, and with a flick of his wrist, the room brightened considerably, transforming into an unassuming, but comfortable sitting room. A loud _crack _sent Fang into a tailspin; Harry put a calming hand on his head when a house-elf appeared.

"Dobby!"

The elf squeaked alarmingly and rounded on Harry to throw himself at his legs, gripping him as if he were a life raft and the floor, a fiercely churning ocean.

"Harry Potter! Dobby has missed you terribly, Harry Potter!" Dobby took to dabbing at his tear-filled eyes with the edge of his Hogwarts tea towel.

"Dobby, we could use a hot meal… once you've a free moment," Aberforth said, chuckling at the elf's theatrics. Harry flushed with embarrassment and tried to peel the ever obliging creature from his legs.

"Oh certainly, Master Dumbledore, certainly!"

Harry gasped, shocked. "_Dumbledore? _You're related to Professor Dumbledore?"

Aberforth shrugged unconcernedly. "As it's not a common name and he and I are the only one's who bear it, I'll claim genetic compatibility."

Harry blinked, thinking it a kooky way to admit kinship to someone, but knowing Albus Dumbledore, it was not so surprising that his brother would have a similarly queer personality.

"Come," Aberforth said, gesturing for Harry to take a seat at the table. "Let's break bread before discussing the week ahead."

They all sat, but Harry couldn't keep his eyes off Aberforth, who was leaning over, tickling Fang's chin. He tried desperately to reconcile that this was Dumbledore's _brother_ and not some low-level hood who serviced a questionable clientele. _Well_, he thought, _to be fair, the Hog's Head's clientele of hags and the like was questionable._ But, apparently the man was not. Feeling a squashing pressure on his right foot, Harry tore his eyes away from Aberforth to throw an apologetic glare at Snape.

When the man began piling Harry's plate high with roast beef, mashed potatoes and pickled beets, he thought nothing of it, but the sly twinkle in Aberforth's eyes as he observed the two dark-haired wizards made Harry blush and duck his head.

"Thank you," he muttered when Snape was done.

"You're welcome," Snape replied automatically. He then looked at Harry's flushed face and regarded him curiously. When Harry's eyes darted over to Aberforth, Snape's eyes followed. What he saw in those blue eyes made him clear his throat and shift in his seat.

"'It is not flesh and blood but the heart which makes us fathers and sons,'"* Aberforth said. Harry and Snape gaped at him, stunned; Aberforth shrugged. "It's a rather apropos quote, I think. Comes from a book my brother gave me. A gift from a friend of his… German chap named, Grindelwald."

Thankfully, Harry had yet to take a bite of the roast on his fork, else he would have choked.

"Friends? But, the Professor defeated Grindelwald... He was evil... wasn't he?"

Aberforth nodded. "Some would say so."

"But, you're saying that they were close..."

"At one time they had a much better relationship than my brother and me," Aberforth said, nodding. "But, blood only matters so much as the intent and feeling behind it… as with anything."

A curious chill worked its way along Harry's spine. Though he felt compelled to glance over at Snape, he directed his eyes to his plate and began pushing his beets around.

*WO

**Hog's Head, Hogsmeade, August 1996**

Harry missed Soth-ince desperately, but the Hog's Head had its charms, chief among them, Aberforth. Consistently and convincingly gruff when behind the pub's bar, he was always graciously accommodating when upstairs in their shared rooms. It was thanks to Aberforth that Harry began to learn intriguing tidbits about Snape, including how he and the old wizard had become friendly in Snape's third-year.

But, sometimes even stories about Snape weren't enough to combat how much Harry hated being cooped up upstairs, day in and day out. Luckily, Aberforth and Snape were sensitive to his moods. On the days he expressed cabin fever, Snape allowed him – disguised as 'James' – to help out Aberforth downstairs in the pub. Forbidden from using his wandless magic, the work was back-breaking, but it was better than being confined upstairs all day.

Five days before they were due back at Hogwarts, Snape, sensing Harry's increasing restlessness, suggested an outing. Donning their Cornish alter egos, he and Harry journeyed to some of Hogsmeade's shops. Their first stop was Gladrags where they ordered school robes sized to fit Harry's 'brother.' They next entered Dervish and Banges where Harry insisted on getting a gift for Aberforth as thanks for his generosity.

Following a jaunt to the Three Broomsticks, where Madam Rosmerta fussed over 'James' and flirted outrageously with a stammering, red-faced 'Edmund', they made their way to the post office. There they picked up Harry's school supplies which Aberforth had kindly ordered days before. All the way back to the Hog's Head, Harry mercilessly teased a scowling Snape about Rosmerta's overt attentions.

At dinner that night, he laughingly shared with Aberforth what had happened. The old wizard patted Snape's hand in a placatory manner, but his blue eyes brimmed with tears at Harry's horrid impression of Madam Rosmerta as he reenacted the failed seduction. Snape eyed Harry beadily throughout, long fingers drumming menacingly against his chin, obviously plotting some sort of revenge, but this didn't deter Harry as he kept up the teasing until bedtime.

"G'night, you delicious, handsome, thing, you!" He then tried to duck into the hall to escape to his room before Snape could retaliate. Instead, he ran – rather forcefully – into the invisible barrier Snape had just spelled into the doorway.

Groaning, Harry turned to slide down the barrier until his bum hit the floor. With his nose in his hands, he crinkled it up to test that it was intact and blood free. Looking to his right, he saw black-booted feet, crossed at the ankles. He snapped his eyes up to Snape's face, irritated at the gratified expression there.

"No fair!" Harry frowned. "Dis hurts!" He pointed ruefully to his nose.

"Mmm… Pity, that," Snape said, his eyes hooded as he looked down at the boy.

"Severus?" said Aberforth from his rocking chair, gray hair wreathed by smoke from the briar pipe poking out of the corner of his mouth.

Snape startled then looked over at him; chastising blue eyes looked back. Snape sighed. Grumbling, he squatted down to take a look at Harry's nose. He fingered it delicately, stopping when Harry flinched. He then tapped it with his wand and Harry inhaled deeply, flaring his nostrils to see if there was any residual pain. There wasn't.

"Thanks," he murmured. Snape nodded and stood up. Then, without preamble he flicked his wand, removing the invisible barrier; Harry hit the floor with a thud.

"Ow!"

*WO

Space was clearly at a premium for Harry's more physically impressive magic, yet he continued training. To test his degree of concentration, he often levitated random objects while Snape quizzed him on Potions. Three days before the start of term, he was lazily levitating a sleeping Fang while Snape leafed through lessons plans for his seventh-years. They both looked up when Aberforth entered the sitting room.

"Severus, my brother wishes to have a word with you."

*WO


	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer: JK Rowling's characters.

**Dumbledore's Office, Hogwarts, August 1996 (29)**

"Severus," Dumbledore said, a tinge of surprise coloring his voice. "You are looking well." He gestured to the chair in front of his desk.

Snape sat, ignoring the compliment as well as the tea setting with freshly baked biscuits placed near the desk's edge.

"What is it you want, Albus?"

"Harry –"

"– is not up for discussion."

Dumbledore blinked, momentarily stunned by Snape's abrupt tone. "I beg your pardon?"

"If you've called me here to discuss Potter, you have wasted my time."

"Ahh..." Dumbledore's expression cleared as he inclined his head, putting a finger to his lips. "I should not be surprised. Harry has rather a knack for insinuating his way into one's heart," he said, smiling gently.

Snape scowled and shifted in his chair. "I wouldn't know."

"Yet you are reluctant to discuss him with me..."

"If it is your wish to continue in the same vein as the morning Potter and I left, then yes, I am reluctant to discuss him with you."

Dumbledore considered Snape's clenched jaw and chilly expression a moment before saying: "Your dedication is admirable, Severus, and as I said, quite understandable… After all, it was hardly easy for me to leave Harry on the Dursley's doorstep."

"Yet somehow you managed." Snape drawled coldly, prompting Dumbledore to lift an eyebrow.

"It was a necessary precaution for his safety, as you know," Dumbledore said. He cleared his throat as Snape continued to glare. "But I have not asked you here to hash over what cannot be changed. I wish to know how Harry fared during your time away."

With a perturbed crook of his lips, Snape said, "The boy is impudent, rash, and exceedingly pig-headed – still, invariably, Potter."

Dumbledore chuckled. "Of course, but I am speaking of his training. His magic has progressed?"

For a long moment, the faint rustle of Fawkes preening his feathers was the only sound in the room.

"Is he as powerful as we believed?" Dumbledore tried again.

Snape crossed his legs and smoothed out his robes' sleeves before gracefully clasping his hands in his lap.

Dumbledore's lips tightened as he sighed. "Severus, as clever as this game is –"

"I can assure you I'm not playing a game. I've no patience for such tactics."

"Nor have I, but I should like to know what we are dealing with in terms of Harry's abilities."

Under normal circumstances, Snape would have yielded to Dumbledore's commanding tone, but at present, he was not inclined to be railroaded. He coolly returned the headmaster's gaze until the elderly wizard stood, turning to stroke a long finger down Fawkes' golden chest. When he turned back to face Snape, his tempered expression was gone, supplanted with a flinty hardness Harry would have recognized from the Ministry Atrium.

"Severus, war is coming, and at a time not of our choosing! We must, all of us, be prepared! But Harry especially, for with him, we now have an opportunity to rid the wizarding world of an evil that has plagued us for decades!"

Snape shot to his feet. "Damn it, Albus! _That_ is not his responsibility! I explained as much to you when Potter and I left! You know perfectly well he's exceptionally powerful! So are you! Does that then mark you to dispense with the wizarding world's evil, alone?"

"Severus, you know that Voldemort will target Harry regardless! _He_ believes Harry shall be his downfall!"

"Oh please!" Snape spat. "His insanity is to be expected! Must you also join the mad chorus, filling Potter's head with the ridiculous notion of being some sort of wizarding savior? Merlin's sake, he's a_ boy_, Albus, not a god!"

"Severus –"

"I've dedicated this time to train him to use his powers responsibly, not as preparation to become some wizarding equivalent of the atom bomb! _And_," – Snape said quickly, staying Dumbledore's reply – "fostering his belief in that travesty you call a Prophecy is unconscionable! I refuse to allow you to do it!"

Dumbledore's eyes flashed angrily as he leaned forward, bracing his hands on his desktop.

"That travesty, as you so aptly put it, Severus, was only made credible thanks to your telling Voldemort of its existence! And as for refusing to 'allow' Harry to do anything, there is little, or rather, _nothing_ you can say in that regard!"

Snape flinched, swallowing against the bile suddenly filling and burning his throat. From long experience, he knew he hadn't a prayer in intimidating the headmaster – yet, for all the devastating truth in Dumbledore's words, he couldn't quell the dangerous tone in his voice: "Albus, _what is it you want_?"

Dumbledore inhaled deeply then came around his desk to lay a thin hand on Snape's shoulder.

"I want Harry safe, prepared, Severus," Dumbledore said, giving Snape's shoulder a gentle squeeze, hoping to diffuse the Potions Master's fury. "You must open your eyes to reality... Voldemort _will _target him. It does him an injustice to pretend otherwise."

Snape carefully removed Dumbledore's hand from his shoulder; the old wizard sighed.

"Severus, it is quite obvious that you and Harry have forged a bond, but I tell you now, for what he shall inevitably face it is not prudent that he form an even deeper attachment to you."

Snape snorted, aiming for derisive laughter, but it caught in his chest, constricting his breath like the lightest jolt of the Cruciatus.

"Severus, you have spent a mere summer with Harry and your highly inflammatory opinion of him has been turned on its ear. Do you believe Harry has not developed the very same feelings? I daresay his feelings changed the moment he saw you lying wrecked in that hospital bed!"

Snape quickly edged away from Dumbledore, crossing to the open window to breathe in some fresh air. Trying to swallow around the lump in his throat, he remained quiet.

"If Harry does not yet love –"

"S-stop!" Snape's voice cracked as he whipped around to face Dumbledore. After taking a fortifying breath, he said: "Why does my association with the boy concern you so? Do you fear that he will cease behaving like your trained mongrel, jumping over every hoop, bar, and tube you desire? …Or is it his powers that trouble you?"

Dumbledore's eyes narrowed. "I have just stated why I find this relationship to be unwise. Furthermore, it is not my aim to control Harry. To infer that I fear his powers –"

"You're being less than honest, Albus..."

Dumbledore paled, furious. "_You_, Severus, are being dangerously impractical! This is a matter of safety – not only of Harry's, but of yours as well! Does it not concern you that Voldemort managed to track you down – or rather, track _Harry_ down?"

Snape moaned softly and closed his eyes, clenching and unclenching his hands. "So he doesn't…?"

"No." Dumbledore exhaled loudly, looking as relieved as Snape. "From what we can discern he has no idea Harry was in your company. But should you insist on involving yourself with Harry in this way, eventually Voldemort _will_ get wind of your alliance and he will do everything in his power to make sport of it." Dumbledore considered the thin-lipped man before him as he resumed his seat. "As for Harry, at the least, the _least_, Severus, know that you will come to serve as a distraction for him – much as Sirius did…"

It was Snape's turn to pale. "You know nothing short of death would have stopped him going after Black. No one risks their life for a distraction… You think you know the boy, Albus but you don't," Snape said. "You underestimate his ability to handle anything resembling truth and you overestimate his importance in defeating the Dark Lord! Moreover, as I'm sure you well recall when we left for the summer, Potter no longer trusts you to look after his interests."

"It is now you whom he trusts in that stead?" Dumbledore asked quietly.

"I would venture to say he trusts me infinitely more than he does you."

Dumbledore leaned back to tent his hands beneath his lips. "But to what avail, Severus? What would you do with this 'trust?' You mention Harry's ability to handle the truth, yet I am certain that there is _one_ important truth you have neglected to share with him."

Before Snape could stop it, a flash of panic flitted across his face; he quickly transposed it with a scalding glare.

"Tread carefully, Albus. Give Potter reason to distrust you, it will prove difficult to gain it back."

"Well observed, but his feelings for me are not my primary concern just now, his survival is. And in the interest of all involved, I think you know that it is best to put paid to this situation now, rather than later..." Dumbledore's blue eyes twinkled humorlessly. "Severus, you, more than most, understand the sacrifices that must be made in times like these. No matter how well-meaning, no matter how deeply felt, this is not a time for selfishness."

"You would speak to me of selfishness? Selfish is denying Potter a say in his future! Selfish is prepping him to square up against the Dark Lord! Selfish is –" Snape's jaw worked, either gritting his teeth or biting his tongue as he contemplated his next words. "You tasked me with looking after the boy, and I did! If things didn't pan out the way you expected, if he doesn't trust you as he used to, you have only yourself to thank!"

Snape then strode to the door where he grasped the knob to pull it open.

"Has your trust in me dimmed as well?" Dumbledore called. Snape stopped short and turned back to face the old wizard who looked as if the weight of his hundred-plus years had suddenly crashed down on him, hinting at the toll of this conversation, and perhaps everything else.

"Things are not so black and white," Snape said, playing with the door knob, twisting it back and forth.

"No… They never were." Dumbledore conceded softly. "But that need not be so concerning Harry. Perhaps you are right, Severus, perhaps I do underestimate him in the way you say, but I believe you give no credit to his ability to cope with what lies ahead. It is a pity, all that he has endured in his young life, but it is that experience which gives him the fortitude to deal with what he must face. I believe he is strong enough to handle it."

Snape's lips were a thin, hard line dividing his face.

"Severus, I do not ask this of you to cause you or Harry heartache, but for his sake, we must consider what is best for him. Help me to be a better steward to him than I have been to you."

Snape's hand stilled and he frowned, looking almost child-like. "One thing has nothing to do with the other."

Dumbledore smiled sadly. "Oh, yes, my dear boy," he said, "it does. That you chose to go to my brother rather than come to the castle demonstrates my point. I gave a tremendous amount of thought to things while you and Harry were away…"

"I too gave a tremendous amount of thought to things while we were away…" Snape interrupted. "You don't owe me anything, Albus. I made my choices and I must live with them, as you must –"

"Severus…"

"– but, Potter… Potter deserves more… from both of us."

"Yes, he does, which is why I implore you to reconsider your ties to him. Leave him to me, Severus, please."

Frowning, Snape shook his head. "I must get back."

He then turned on his heel, robes flaring as he surged through the door, leaving it open behind him.

*WO

Dusk was coming on when Snape finally returned to the Hog's Head. Opening the door into the sitting room, he stopped short at Harry's pale, anxious face.

"What happened?" Harry demanded. "What did he want? Is it something to do with Voldemort? How did he know we were here?"

"Cease questioning me!" Snape hissed as he brushed past, intently avoiding Harry's eyes.

"But… what happened? What did he say?"

Snape scrubbed a hand over his face. "Go away, Potter, just… leave me be," he said hoarsely, collapsing into the chair near the darkened hearth. He then leaned forward to rest his face in his hands.

Despite the demand to be left alone, Harry continued toward Snape's hunched form, worried by the man's behavior.

"Sir?"

With a ragged sigh, Snape raised his head. Harry gasped, alarmed. Snape's face was utterly void of any defining color. A haunting blend of fear, disgust, and resignation contorted his hawkish features making Harry desperate to know what Dumbledore had said to put the man in such a state. He dared a step closer, but the warring emotions on Snape's face swiftly metamorphosed into rage.

"POTTER, GET OUT OF HERE!" he screamed, spittle flying, eyes wild. "WHILE I REALIZE YOUR INABILITY TO OBEY THE SIMPLEST OF REQUESTS IS A GENETIC ABNORMALITY, WHEN I TELL YOU TO DO SOMETHING, I EXPECT YOU TO DO IT!"

After a moment of stunned silence, Harry blinked, more troubled than angered by the man's explosive behavior. Just that morning they had been making plans for their return to Hogwarts, of how best to mesh Harry's training with his full load of classes, Quidditch matches, and practices – just that morning, everything had been fine. But realizing the man was in no condition to deal with him just then Harry decided it would be best to do as Snape asked. Harry turned to leave.

"And Potter?" Snape's voice was like cold, dead fingers dragging down Harry's back. "Keep out of my sight until we return to Hogwarts."

*WO

Just in time, Harry stumbled into the bathroom. With a burning heave, he expelled the late lunch he had shared with Aberforth. Harry had wanted to hold off starting the meal until Snape returned, but after more than three hours lapsed without word, Aberforth suggested they eat without him. Harry only managed to pick at the food on his plate, his face a mash of deep concern and confusion, his stomach in knots.

"How did the headmaster know we were here, Mr. Dumbledore?"

"Aberforth, Harry. And, while there's little that escapes my brother's attention… I can only guess."

"What d' you reckon, then?"

Aberforth shrugged. "A number of missing Death Eaters isn't likely to escape the attention of Aurors _or_ the Order, is it?"

"That still doesn't explain how he knew."

Aberforth hesitated before speaking. "Albus is aware that Severus and I are close."

A moment later, the Squib working the bar for Aberforth knocked at the door and called him downstairs. This left Harry alone to ponder what Dumbledore might be saying to Snape up at the castle, and the consequences of being discovered at Soth-ince.

*WO

Later that evening, a knock sounded at Harry's bedroom door.

"Harry?"

Sprawled across the bed on his stomach, Harry raised his head to rasp, "Yes?"

Aberforth stuck his head into the room. "It seems Severus is averse to dining this evening. Would you care to join me?"

"No, thank you. I don't feel much like eating, either."

Aberforth moved to sit at the foot of the bed. "Whatever the problem, Harry you musn't take Severus's behavior to heart."

Harry turned to look at the old wizard. His blue eyes were _so_ like the headmaster's, yet they lacked the calculating expectation he had come to recognize in the elder Dumbledore's.

"He won't even tell me what Dumble – I mean, the headmaster said..." Harry blurted.

"Perhaps you should let him work it out for himself first."

"What if he can't?" Harry looked so miserable Aberforth couldn't help reaching out to gently pat his leg. He smiled reassuringly.

"Severus is exceptionally stubborn, Harry, always keen to get his way." Aberforth cocked his head to the side, regarding Harry with intense bemusement. "A characteristic you and he share, I notice."

Harry blinked tiredly and lay his head back down, not really wanting to hear about how much alike he and Snape were.

Taking the hint that Harry wanted to be left with his thoughts, Aberforth asked, "Can I fetch you anything, lad?"

"No, thank you."

"All right," Aberforth said, patting Harry's leg once more before rising. "'Til the 'morrow, then."

But, as soon as the door clicked closed, Harry was on his feet, flinging open his trunk. He rifled around inside it until he fingered the fine, silvery gray material of his Invisibility Cloak.

He refused to leave his future to chance. He wanted to know what was going on, and he wanted to know it now.

*WO

**Dumbledore's Office, Hogwarts, August 1996**

"WHAT THE DEVIL WERE YOU THINKING?" Snape roared, apoplectic as he stormed the length of Dumbledore's office. When Harry opened his mouth to respond, Snape stabbed a finger at him and yelled, "SHUT UP! Just shut up! Traipsing about, vulnerable to any and all who wish you harm! You could have been abducted! You could have been k-killed!"

He stopped suddenly, throwing his arms across his chest, piercing Harry with furious, yet undeniably worried black eyes.

"I asked you a question and I damned well expect an answer! _What_ was the meaning of sneaking up here?"

Harry stared, reluctant to say anything after being forbidden to speak.

"ANSWER ME!" Snape boomed, making Harry jump.

"Now, see here, Snape! There's no need to a-t-tack the boy!" Headmaster Armando Dippet stuttered from his portrait. "He was concerned about your b-behavior! C-c-can't say I b-blame –"

"Thank you, Headmaster." Dumbledore interjected.

"I just wanted to know why you came back in such a temper!" Harry fumed, ignoring both headmasters.

"You've absolutely no reason to be concerned about anything I do, Potter," Snape said, low and cutting. "In future, I would suggest you limit your pathological need for adventure –"

"I didn't come up here for tickles and giggles or to piss you off! I came because I was worried about what _he –_" Harry jabbed a finger at Dumbledore, "– said to upset you!" When Snape paled, Harry took a breath and in a determinedly calmer voice, said, "I really wish you'd tell me what it was, because if it's something to do with Voldemort," – Snape winced – "shouldn't I know what I'm facing?"

Harry knew full well that had Voldemort been the topic of discussion, Snape wouldn't have hesitated to tell him. But, he also knew that he wouldn't get the truth without a little cunning, or in this case, emotional blackmail.

It worked. Snape and Dumbledore looked floored while some of the office's other occupants eagerly voiced their support.

"Hear, hear!" chirped Headmaster Everard.

"Excellent point, dear boy!" said Headmistress Dilys Derwent.

Heartened by those responses, Harry continued, "If it's something to do with him, I can't believe I even have to ask you about it." He then approached the stunned Snape much as one would a wounded animal. "Please, sir… What happened?"

"Potter..." Snape croaked then he cleared his throat, taking precious seconds to compose himself. "Potter," he said, now stern and professorial. "Until we are back in residence at the castle, you are my responsibility and shalldo as I say –"

"No!" Harry said, green eyes flashing. "No! You can be upset and worried about me, but I can't be for you? I have to do what you tell me, without question, as _your_ responsibility, but I can't look out for you?" Harry frowned, searching Snape's eyes desperately for a hint of understanding. "At Fred and George's shop," – his eyes flicked to Dumbledore then back to Snape – "you – you trusted me, but you can't tell me what's bothering you, now?"

Flushed, Snape swiped a shaking hand across his mouth, obviously wishing to be anywhere but in the presence of Albus Dumbledore having this conversation.

"Potter, what was said here –"

Frustrated with Snape ducking and dodging the point, Harry whipped around to Dumbledore. He figured the old wizard would stonewall him as effectively as Snape, but he still wanted a go at what he believed to be the real issue.

"Is there something about _this_ –" Harry gestured angrily between himself and Snape "– that bothers you?"

"Potter," said Snape, a warning tone in his voice. "Mind your manners..."

"Why?" Harry yelled. "He's not! He said or did something to upset you, and I want to know what!"

"POTTER, STAY OUT OF MY BUSINESS!" Snape roared.

Harry closed his mouth with an audible snap and stared at Snape, uneasy and confused at the change that had come over the man: Snape looked a stricken, crazed mess. His eyes were unfocused and his jaw jumped spastically when he exhaled, his breaths coming harsh, and stuttered, moving his thin chest up and down in a fast, irregular rhythm. Harry dropped his eyes to focus on it, finding Snape's maddened gaze unbearable. As he watched it rise and fall, he was reminded of a stormy day at Soth-ince, when it rose and fell with concern, not anger.

It was a Sunday, which meant no training to suffer. Because of the suffocating heat, Harry had spent the majority of the day lazing about on the sofa, slug-like, clad in a T-shirt and ratty boxers. He dozed, snacked, used the loo when necessary, and crafted a letter to Hermione, all while awaiting the rain that had been threatening since daybreak. His company for the moment, Fang, lay sprawled like a drunken sailor beneath his big window, peppering the humid silence with his soft snores, twitching and whimpering occasionally as he dreamed.

As they were most days, Soth-ince's windows were thrown wide, though not much was happening by way of a cooling breeze. Low, slow drifting clouds the color of volcanic ash, muted the sky and the valley, yet they yielded not a drop of rain. Heat lightning pranced along the valley's edges on the heels of thunder which echoed like a troupe of bass drums in the distance. Come dusk, though, the duo centralized over the bowl-shaped landscape creating an electrically charged show that begged an audience.

Harry got to his knees to look out the small window above the sofa as brilliant flashes of lightning forked across the darkening sky. At a particularly vicious strike, he recoiled, closing his eyes against the blinding flash, then, the heavens opened in a sudden gush. Helped along by a gusting wind, the rain propelled in through the open window, dousing Harry's face. He welcomed it, turning into it, refreshed by the cool downpour after the day's sticky heat.

Then thunder exploded directly above, rattling the cottage's frame as though a giant had it in hand, shaking it like a snow globe. This drove Fang into his usual hysterics, but Harry ignored him. Squinting against the pelting rain, he saw a bolt of lightning strike the oak grove, setting several trees on fire, illuminating that section of the grove so that it resembled a horrifying corner of hell.

'_My dear friends, we are assembled here tonight for a lesson… in enlightenment.'_

Harry jerked away from the window so fast he went sprawling backward over the coffee table. His ribs bounced painfully off its edge as he struggled to get to his hands and knees to get up. Once on his feet, he began to lurch about the center of the room in an unconscious imitation of Fang.

_Snape._ Where was Snape? Harry stopped spinning, trying to think, focus. _Snape…_ Where was he? Out walking? In the lab – where he had been most of the day, save lunchtime when Harry had requested fried egg sandwiches and pumpkin juice? Snape hadn't batted an eye at the request, but he had opted for roast lamb.

Roast. The smell of the burning trees wafted into the cottage.

'_Lucius, Bellatrix, Ant –'_

Harry cinched his eyes closed, tight, but it was no good. The image of a long, lean body entwined on a demonic spit, languidly spinning, spinning… ringed by white, featureless faces in robes, black as death, formed in his mind. Then a fierce roar of thunder mingled with a crisp, tinkly sound like raining crystals; Fang yelped and dove to cower under Snape's desk.

'_Crucio!' _

Harry clapped his hands over his ears. Screams! He could hear shrill, pained screams, but this time, it wasn't her. It was…

Snape. He ran, plotting a thunderous, wet trail through the cottage's short hallway. He tore into the sitting room, his face ghostly white with terror. He spun about the room, his wet hair whipping about, getting into his eyes and mouth. Seeing the bright shards of glass littering the floor, he frowned then turned his sharp eyes onto Harry who was still planted in the middle of the room, pale, shivering, and panic stricken.

"Are you all right?" Snape took Harry by the shoulders and looked him over, examining him for cuts. "What happened?"

After two aborted attempts, Harry found his voice. "I – I don't know… Rain started coming in on me… I just stuck my head out to get a bit wet and I saw the lightning strike the trees and the – the fire. It reminded me…" Harry's eyes widened as he lifted them to Snape's face. He then began to vibrate so hard his teeth rattled.

"_Accio_ towel!" Snape growled. Once the towel appeared he muttered a charm to warm it and draped it over Harry's head. He then quietly cast a charm to dry the boy's clothes and began to buff Harry's hair dry.

Bit by bit, the storm slackened, and Harry calmed as well. Rain continued to sweep in through the glassless windows, but Snape was blind to it.

"Thanks, sir," Harry said, his lips trembling with a smile as he looked up at Snape.

Snape stopped ruffling the towel to look down at him. The man's expression was fixed, well-nigh a non-expression as he eyed the boy, but he was looking at Harry as if he held the key to a riddle. Harry stood stock-still, letting Snape discover whatever it was he needed to discover. Long, hushed seconds passed before the man resumed his motions; Harry took it as an invitation to close his eyes, then he leaned forward until his body came to rest against Snape's.

Despite this impulsive act, the hair-drying motions never ceased.

Oblivious of the man's chilly rain soaked clothing, Harry leaned against Snape. He even dared to sniff him, seeking that comforting smell of cinnamon and cloves that seemed to seep from Snape's pores; he imagined he detected a hint of it amidst the crisp rainwater smell, but perhaps not. Regardless, Harry leaned against him, grateful for the life-affirming thump of the heart beneath his ear as it was proof that Snape was here safe and alive, not in Voldemort's clutches suffering a fate that made Harry's heart ache to think about. Finally, Harry leaned against Snape because the man allowed it.

The rain stopped. Fifteen minutes had elapsed, but neither wizard had moved. Lulled by Snape's touch, Harry had fallen asleep on his feet, but at the feel of a light fluttering across his cheek, his eyes snapped open. With the storm over, it was quiet now, quiet enough for him to hear Snape swallow. As he peeled the right side of his face from Snape's shirt, the man shifted the towel to wrap around Harry's shoulders.

Snape cleared his throat. "The windows…" he said, but his voice still had a hoarse quality about it.

"Oh… right," Harry said. Reluctantly, he stepped back. The front of his gray T-shirt and shorts were black with the wet from Snape's clothes. The man waved his hand over Harry to dry him, and before Harry could even inhale to say, 'Thank you', Snape had turned to set about repairing the windows in the sitting room. He then went on to the cottage's other rooms, leaving Harry to stand in the center of the room. But, as he clutched the towel tighter about his shoulders, he discovered he was fine with that.

But he wasn't now. There was not a hint of the man from that Sunday, from the day of the attack, or even from hours earlier when he had dished up Harry's breakfast. That man was gone, and it hurt.

"Fine," Harry whispered. "Fine, I'll keep out of your business, out of your way, out of your sight. But know this: _that's_ the last time you tell me to do _anything_."

Before exiting, Harry hazarded a glance at Dumbledore. The old wizard had a typically benign expression pasted on, but Harry sensed something bubbling just below the surface – something like satisfaction.

*WO


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: **As a rule I wouldn't bog down the story with anything other than the_ story_, but I felt the need to speak to all of those readers who, rather viscerally, wished to inflict bodily harm on Dumbledore. ;) As I said in my replies to your reviews (I do reply to every single review posted – good and bad!) I honestly dialed down Dumbledore's manipulative behavior. When I began the story, it was not my intention to make him so unlikable, but – to use a phrase that has been done to death – it is what it is.

As an aside, I'd like to give my warmest thanks to everyone who has read, commented on, and enjoyed 'What's Owed.' Thank you for taking the time to immerse yourselves in my clumsy foray into Harry's world. ~_Ruth7019 _

Disclaimer: JK Rowling's characters.

**Gryffindor Tower, Hogwarts, September 1996 (01)**

Perched on the window sill next to Neville's bed, Harry looked about, cheered to see the other four beds made up and awaiting their owners. The dorm would soon be a madhouse, but he was looking forward to it, especially after the last few tension-filled days at the Hog's Head. Turning to take in the view of Hogwarts' grounds, he mulled over the change in Snape's behavior and what Dumbledore might have done to spark it.

"Potter?"

Harry jumped then hissed as he cracked his elbow against the window.

"Perhaps we should have worked harder on those pitiful sensory skills of yours."

Harry gazed determinedly out the window. Days before he would have smiled at the gentle dig, even served up a snarky retort; now he simply clenched his jaw, and tried to ignore the echoing pain in his elbow as well as the tone of concern coloring Snape's voice.

"Potter?"

"I don't feel like talking to you, in case you hadn't noticed."

"Yes... your petulant attitude is woefully apparent."

Harry rolled his eyes, thinking the man had a lot of nerve. After fetching him from Dumbledore's office Snape had avoided Harry as keenly as vampires avoided daylight. For his part, Harry had done his best to honor the man's earlier request to make himself scarce until they returned to the castle. Aberforth had baldly, and rather colorfully, expressed how ridiculous he thought they were acting and had attempted to get them to at least take their meals together; both had stubbornly refused.

"What do you want?"

Ignoring Harry's cold tone, Snape crossed the room, stopping when he reached the foot of Neville's bed. "I came to see if you'd settled in."

"I'm not a first-year. I know how all this works."

"Of course, but, I'm also here at the headmaster's request."

Harry whipped around to face the man, his face screwed up in contempt. "So now you're back to being his little errand boy?"

"I didn't come here to argue with you, nor did I come to be insulted," Snape said, cultivating a bland expression.

"I really don't care why you came – unless it's to tell me what he said the other night –"

"Let it lay, Potter! It's none of your concern!"

"Stop saying that!" Harry yelled. "And stop calling me, Potter! I hate it when you call me that! My name is Harry! HARRY!"

To emphasize his point, he leaped down from the window sill and raised his hands, palms out. In an instant the beds' curtains began to flutter and the dorm's atmosphere darkened, mimicking the approaching dusk outside. When Neville's nightstand began to shake and shimmy, Snape growled and lunged forward to grab Harry's wrists.

"Stop this, right NOW!"

"Make me!" Harry yelled, struggling against the man. "Go on, I dare you!"

"Were I to make you do anything, Potter, it would be nothing as childish as a game of dare." Snape's eyes had narrowed to hair-raising slits and his face was hard in a way Harry hadn't seen in a long time. "Now, while your deplorable behavior is nothing short of surprising, I had hoped that over the summer you would have learned that maturity is not a specifically reserved trait for those above the age of twelve!"

Harry's upper lip twitched into a sneer as he wrenched free from Snape. "I don't care!"

"Clearly..." Snape countered with his own far superior sneer. "So now your intellect is limited to what?" he said. "Quidditch? Rule breaking? Bopping about mindlessly until you fall into the Dark Lord's hands?"

Harry chuckled darkly. "No, that's your game, you –"

"_You _had better think long and hard before completing that sentence," Snape said, his voice low and quite scary.

Harry swallowed, leery of the man's anger, but his own combustive anger at being shut out from whatever had gone on between Snape and Dumbledore was too fresh, too sharp to ignore, thus instead of apologizing to the man, Harry coldly turned his back on him.

Snape inhaled deeply and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Why do you persist in being an utter thorn in the side of all who care about you?" he said quietly.

Harry glanced back, disbelieving. "Remind me to ask someone who cares."

There was a loud click as Snape swallowed. "Of course," he said. "Well, then… I'll leave you to finish getting settled."

He turned and stalked towards the door, but Harry hadn't missed the blink of hurt in those dark eyes. Suddenly, he didn't want the man to go.

"Right," he said, louder than necessary. Snape stiffened, but didn't break stride. Once he reached the door he pulled it open and stepped out of the room. For long seconds Harry stood deathly still, watching. He took a shuffling step forward, but Snape did not reenter the room.

"Fine," Harry muttered angrily. He turned and stiffly approached the window, resuming his post.

Against the backdrop of the waning sun, Thestrals had taken flight. They were circling the Forbidden Forest, no doubt preparing to transport the students from Hogsmeade station to the castle. Harry watched them – black, winged, horse-like beasts, soaring in a sinuous pattern sensible only to them. He knew their mythology, that they were only visible to those who had seen death; Hagrid had told him. While racing about on his Firebolt one afternoon, he had nearly fallen off it after spotting a herd of them at the edge of the forest, tearing into a half-eaten carcass as the half-giant watched.

Harry also knew that they were harmless, but the sight of them filled him with a deepening dread – with the painful certainty that he was bearing witness to another death. With each passing second the dread doubled, then tripled. _How could this be happening? _Harry wondered as his palms and brow grew slick with perspiration. _Everything was fine. We were fine! I just… I don't understand! _His breaths shortened to panicked little hitches, making him feel as if he was being held under water. The feeling was so suffocating, so all encompassing, that the hurt and anger of moments ago faded to a pinpoint in his mind's eye as he willed Snape to come back and say something – anything – so that he could, too.

The door was still open. He hadn't heard departing footfalls on the stairs. Maybe…

Then the Thestrals began their journey east toward the village, melding seamlessly into the encroaching dark. As Harry's eyes shifted to watch them, he spotted a pale oval reflected in the window. He stared at it, breathless, waiting for the figure to move closer. It didn't. It slowly moved out of sight and the door shut with a quiet click.

Harry inhaled a loud, gulping breath and closed his eyes.

*WO

Outside the entrance to the Great Hall, Harry shuffled back and forth scanning the crowd as students brushed past, some saying 'hi', others glancing at him in a wary fashion. He acknowledged the greetings with a distracted nod, while dismissing the snide glances and gossipy chatter.

"Hey Harry!" Neville Longbottom waved at him from behind a band of tall Hufflepuffs.

"Hi Neville," said Harry with a genuine smile for the shy boy once he bobbed into view again.

Puffing heavily, Neville made his way over to stand next to Harry. "How was your summer?" he asked.

Just as Harry opened his mouth to respond, Hermione, Ron, Ginny and Luna Lovegood emerged from the crowd.

"Harry! I hope you haven't been waiting long! It was absolute murder trying to gather all the first-years together for McGonagall! We've only just got away!" Hermione spoke in a rush then crushed him in a quick hug before turning to do the same to Neville, who flushed brightly.

"Oy! Watch yourself!" Ron bellowed, startling a second-year Ravenclaw girl who had stumbled into him.

"Ronald, you could be a bit nicer," said Luna. "A bad aura invites bundimuns. My mother once told me they're very difficult to get rid of without bits of Basilisk skin."

"Yeah, well, it just so happens I know where to find some," said Ron, looking about, distracted.

"Hey Luna," said Harry, noting that though her waist-length hair was pulled up in a loose bun and held in place by her wand, her ears were bare of her signature radish earrings, giving her a dispirited look. It didn't help that she looked a bit paler than normal.

"Hullo, Harry." Luna wrapped her arms around him. "Nothing found is ever lost." She whispered into his ear.

"Er… What?" Harry eyed her confusedly as she pulled away.

"You look as though you've lost something… but the things we need are always close by." She turned, her large blue eyes skipping about the crowded corridor as she hummed softly.

Even more confused, Harry followed her movements. He gave a start when her gaze stopped on Snape who was speaking to a Slytherin prefect. Snape inadvertently caught his eye, then quickly looked away, but Luna further rattled Harry by saying, "Professor Snape looks lovely, doesn't he?"

Despite his glum mood, Harry had to choke back a laugh at her choice of words. _Lovely?_ Being in the man's company every day over the summer Harry had grown used to Snape's appearance and he hadn't charted any noticeable physical changes, other than the man's improvements after his stint in the hospital wing. Looking at him now, though, Harry had to admit Luna had a point: Snape was still thin, but compared to his state back in June, the man now looked positively robust. Harry recalled that even Aberforth had commented on it.

"Son, your robes are fitting rather snug these days…" Aberforth had said, regarding Snape thoughtfully over his copy of the _Quibbler_. Snape had scowled and shifted to a more comfortable position, tugging at his robes. Aberforth had uttered a rusty chuckle. "It's hardly a criticism, Severus. You look… content."

"It's because of the boy!" Snape complained, his eyes darting over to Harry who was on the floor using Fang as a pillow. Aberforth chuckled again. "I mean to say," Snape said quickly, "you've seen how much he eats – _what_ he eats. It's always something slathered in grease, followed up with some coma-inducing dessert topped off with so much sugar –"

"Hey! You're the one who loads my plate up like I haven't eaten in a month!" Harry put in accusingly. "And, you like chips, bacon and fried eggs just as much as I do! AND the dozen fairy cakes Hermione sent along that time? I ate two – you polished off five before Fang's begging started to annoy you!"

Aberforth had laughed out loud while Snape had growled and made a business of snapping the _Prophet_ open to either read or hide behind.

"We'd better get inside," said Ginny, shaking Harry out of his reverie. Hermione was eyeing him speculatively, having followed his and Luna's actions. She grabbed his arm when he moved to follow the others.

"Harry, Percy told us about the attack, but he said he didn't have all the details. What happened?"

"Later," Harry said, snagging her hand to usher her inside when she opened her mouth to continue on topic.

As they neared the Gryffindor table, a familiar voice scolding a pair of rowdy Gryffindor third-years rose above the din.

"Charlie!" Ron called. "What are you doin' here?"

"Hey!" Charlie turned to join Ron and his friends, smiling broadly, accentuating the friendly wrinkles around his light brown eyes. Though Ron had a bit of an advantage in height over Charlie, he still looked small next to his stout, solidly built brother who was older and happened to wrangle dragons for a living.

"Dumbledore stopped by the Burrow late last night while everyone was in bed," Charlie said, "asked me about teachin' Hagrid's classes 'til he gets back." He grinned at Harry and Hermione. "Harry," he said clapping the boy on the shoulder. "S'good to see you."

"Hagrid's all right, isn't he?" Harry said, worried.

"Yeah, yeah." Charlie waved a broad, freckled hand dismissively. "Things just takin' a bit longer than planned, it seems…" They all looked around at the sound of someone calling Charlie's name; McGonagall was motioning for him to join her. "I got to get up to the High Table. Give us a cuddle before I go, Ronniekins…" Ron scowled and swatted at Charlie's outstretched arms. Charlie laughed and gave his brother a sharp pat on the cheek. "I'll see you lot later!" Charlie called as he jogged away.

Once everyone was seated and the Sorting done, Dumbledore stood to give the term announcements and Welcoming speech. Harry listened with half an ear, his attention focused elsewhere; he couldn't help stealing glances at Snape who looked to be listening raptly to Dumbledore.

"Harry," Hermione said, her eyes roving back and forth between him and Snape.

"Hmm?" He tore his gaze from Snape to look back at her.

"Something's wrong between you and the professor… isn't it?" she whispered.

Harry stiffened, uneasy. He had no idea what to tell her; he didn't understand it himself.

"It's nothing," he said, casting another glance up at the man.

"If it's nothing, why do you look like someone just stole your broom?" She jiggled his arm. "…_Harry?_"

He wasn't listening to anything Dumbledore was saying anyway, so he shifted around to whisper: "We stayed at the Hog's Head after the attack."

"The Hog's Head? Why?"

"Snape and Mr. Dumbledore – er, Ab –"

"Dumbledore!" Hermione fairly yelled, then clapped her hands over her mouth before quickly slinking down in her seat as every eye in the Hall turned their way.

"Miss Granger?" said the headmaster genially. "Something to add?"

Hermione shook her head fiercely.

"Hermione?" Ron said from across the table. "What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing," she said, then sat up, ramrod straight clasping her hands in her lap and giving Dumbledore her full attention.

*WO

**The Gryffindor Common Room, Hogwarts September 1996**

"So, the bloke runnin' the Hog's Head is Dumbledore's brother?" Ron asked. Harry nodded. "Bit of a nutjob, isn't he?" said Ron, stretching his legs out to cross his ankles. He then folded his arms behind his head, accidentally elbowing Hermione in the ear.

"Ron!"

"Sorry."

"He's not a nutjob," Harry said.

"He and Snape are friends?" Hermione asked.

"More than that. Snape's known him since his third-year. He seems to respect him a lot."

"So, how was it, staying there?" Hermione asked.

"Fine 'til Dumbledore called Snape to his office," Harry replied with a sigh.

"Which Dumb-a-dore?" Ron said, yawning. Hermione shot him an annoyed glance; the redhead looked back innocently.

"Why wouldn't Snape tell you what happened?" Hermione asked, turning back to Harry.

"I don't know." Harry raked his fingers through his hair. "But, he was different when he came back."

"You think Dumbledore took away his hair grease? 'Cause his head looks a sight better –"

"Oh, Ron, do shut up!" Hermione hissed.

Ron shrugged and dug the heels of his palms into his eyes. "I just don't see what the big deal is."

"Regardless of what Dumbledore might have said, Snape was right to be angry, Harry," said Hermione, ignoring Ron. "Someone could have…" She frowned. "You shouldn't have come up to the castle on your own like that."

"I wouldn't have if he hadn't been acting so out of it! I mean, it was just so weird! One minute he's fine – _we're_ fine – and the next…"

Ron yawned loudly as he unfolded his long frame from the sofa and twisted his torso to the left and right, grunting. "Well, I'm off."

"You said a mouthful, there." Hermione muttered.

"I heard that," Ron said and yawned again. His tired blue eyes shuffled between his friends sitting closely together. With a curious smirk he asked Harry, "You comin'?"

Harry nodded without looking up. "In a bit."

After raising a hand at them, Ron lumbered up the stairs. Harry and Hermione continued to talk, their voices low. Two hours later, Hermione peered around the common room to discover they were the only ones left; Harry followed her gaze.

"I reckon we should go to bed," he said. Hermione blushed, a smile playing at her lips. "You know what I mean." Harry muttered, blushing as well.

Hermione elbowed him gently, laughing. "I know… I've got Ancient Runes, first thing…"

After a moment of shyly studying one another, she cleared her throat and stood up; Harry stood too, so close her nose was warmed by his soft exhalations. On impulse, and with his heart pounding, he reached out to tuck a stray bit of hair behind her ear. When she smiled softly, he lowered a finger to gently stroke her cheek, his hand wavering slightly. Heady seconds passed before they began to lean in toward one another. Neither seemed willing to close their eyes as their bodies and parted lips swayed closer. Just as Hermione lifted her hand to rest on Harry's chest, the portrait slammed closed and they sprang apart.

A rumpled seventh-year staggered toward the boys' dorms without uttering a sound; not even when his shins cracked painfully into a heavy side table; the sharp stench of Firewhiskey trailed the boy.

"We should get going," Hermione said softly.

"Yeah..." Harry said with disappointed sigh. "…See you at breakfast?"

"Of course." Hermione stared after him as he ascended the stairs. "Goodnight, Harry." She whispered.

*WO

An hour later, unable to sleep, Harry rooted about for the socks he'd toed off after settling under the covers. Once he found them, he rolled out of bed, making his mattress squeak.

"Y' all righ'?" said Ron, his voice husky with sleep.

"Yeah, go back to sleep." Harry pulled on his socks and glasses.

"Where y' goin'?"

"Common room."

"'Kay. Wan' s' comp –"

Harry, leaning over to grab a blanket off his bed, looked up when Ron stopped speaking. The redhead lay fast asleep, mouth agape, snores growing louder by the second. Harry grinned and shook his head before heading downstairs.

He stretched out on the sofa nearest the fireplace and tossed the blanket over his legs. The golden-red flames within the hearth flickered gaily, but lacked warmth. Harry shivered and pulled the blanket up to his neck. Observing the ratty rug bundled in front of the fireplace, he realized he was missing Fang's bulky shape. He sighed heavily, lamenting tranquil evenings spent before the fire at Soth-ince.

"Harry?"

He lifted his head to look around. "Hermione? What are you doing up?"

"I couldn't sleep," she said, annoyed.

Harry sat up and hitched an eyebrow at her. She had on a pair of thick brown socks he remembered her knitting while at Grimmauld Place last Christmas, and a long red T-shirt with a large, grinning mouthful of sparkling Lockhart-like teeth emblazoned on the front, the legend 'Granger & Granger Dentistry' below them.

"Did you try counting those teeth?" He nodded at her shirt.

Hermione crinkled up her nose. "It must hurt that with all your natural gifts, comedy isn't one of them," she said snootily. "Budge over."

"Y' know, bitterness doesn't become you." Harry smiled as he held up the blanket. Hermione sat close to him and tucked her legs in tight against his.

"Neither do wire-rimmed glasses, but I don't mention it to you, do I?" she replied. Harry growled and snatched the blanket off her legs. She squeaked and grabbed it back. After a bit of playful tussling, they settled down to share it.

"You really were okay with him, weren't you?" Hermione said after a silent moment.

"W-What?" Harry stuttered, too busy reveling in the soft, but deliberate pressure of her knee against his thigh.

"Snape," she said. "Things were good with him this summer?"

"Oh… Yeah, they were."

"What's he like, really?"

Harry huffed softly, managing a half-smile. "Brilliant, sarcastic… demanding. But when we weren't training, he was different – mellow, regular-like. I mean, he pretty much let me do whatever I wanted… I even picked our meals – except for my birthday." Harry laughed. "He did that one, which was nice…"

He glanced over to find Hermione's eyes bright with moisture. He looked down, suddenly self-conscious.

"Don't get me wrong, the beginning was hard 'cause of… y' know, everything, but we managed, or I should say, he managed. I was a bit of a twit there at first, but… he just let me be me – if that makes sense."

Hermione nodded. "At the festival, I talked to him in the restaurant."

"Yeah, he said that you asked to send an owl."

"But, that wasn't all… I told him that you admired him… the way you had admired Sirius."

Harry gaped at her, mortified. "You told him that?"

"Oh, Harry, it was so obvious! Even listening to you now, it's obvious. I told him that his feelings for you were equally obvious. He was gobsmacked, like it was the last thing he expected to hear… but he didn't deny it."

Harry shook his head in disbelief at the girl's nerve, yet like Snape, he couldn't deny his feelings either.

"From what you say and from what I've seen, he dotes on you, terribly, Harry. At Fred and George's, he was so _worried._ When he was holding you, and stroking your hair, you – you just looked so at home in his arms."

Harry looked away, his throat threatening to close up. "Don't," he said hoarsely. "I can't hear that right now."

"Of course," Hermione whispered, "I'm sorry…"

After sitting quietly for a several minutes, Harry bit back a gasp of surprise when Hermione took his right hand in hers. He cheered inwardly, thrilled at the chance to pick up from where things had ended earlier. Soft as a whisper, she caressed the top of his hand, tracing the scars there. Mesmerized, he watched the slow, gentle motion of her fingers for a moment before looking up at her. Her eyes were trained on his hand, lost in her thoughts. A strange knot formed in his stomach as he watched her.

They had been friends since the age of eleven. _What was different now_, Harry wondered? He had never thought her unattractive, but he had never considered anything beyond friendship, either. After all, he had spilled his guts to her about Cho Chang! Still, _something_ had changed. He considered what as he took his time to slowly outline the contours of her face and the visual softness of her skin and how it shone in the reflective light of the fire. His green eyes gently traced every dip, swell and tender angle, loosely framed by that notorious brown, bushy hair which called attention to the earthen tones of her skin. Enraptured by the delightful fullness of her mouth, he blinked when her lips moved.

"What?" He mumbled stupidly, realizing she had been speaking.

"I said, Professor Snape is not the only one that cares about you," Hermione repeated, her tone, determined. Harry felt the knot in his stomach dissolving, to be replaced by a sweet fluttering feeling as their eyes connected.

"Hermione, I..." He was shocked into silence when she darted forward to press her lips to his. His astonishment quickly melted into disappointment as she pulled away only seconds after the kiss began.

"I'm sorry!" She cried, jumping to her feet, getting tangled up in the blanket in the process.

"What! Why?" Bewildered, Harry fumbled to grab her hands to steady her before she could crash into the table.

"I – I shouldn't have done that! I don't know what I was thinking..." She began to worry her bottom lip with her teeth and her eyes filled with tears.

"Hermione, don't." Harry gently tugged on her hands until she joined him back on the sofa. "Why are you sorry?"

"I... I feel like I'm, I'm taking advantage of your emotional state!" She shook her head, sending her bushy strands flailing about wildly.

Harry snorted with laughter. "Right… Look, if I didn't want you kissing me, I'd have banished you to your room or something." He tilted his head smugly, and used a finger to push his glasses up. "I'm a powerful wizard you know."

Hermione laughed softly then ran the back of her hand beneath her eyes to clear away the tears. "It's just that, we're friends, Harry, _best_ friends. I really don't want to mess that up."

"Me neither, but," Harry said, hoping that she was not about to send him spiraling into a painful fall of rejection. "I'd rather be with my best friend than a stranger…"

"Well, lucky for you, Ron is single," Hermione said then pulled a face. "Though you might have a bit of competition since his new favorite pastime is lusting after Lavender Brown… Still, though, if you hurry…"

Harry regarded her admiringly. "What's got into you?"

"What do you mean?"

"You're different. I noticed it at the festival."

She regarded him solemnly for a brief moment then squeezed his hand, as if for strength.

"I would think we're all a bit changed – you, me, Ron, Ginny, Neville… Luna. We've come close to dying quite a few times, but that night at the Ministry... I was terrified – terrified for you and everyone else, terrified I'd never see my parents again.

"From the moment I received my Hogwarts letter, I let magic come between me and my parents. I was so thrilled to be a part of the wizarding world I let it consume me. They let me be to find my way, which was great – for me, of course – but during the battle, the thought of never seeing them again was unbearable because that distance was still there. Yes, my mum did drive me spare this summer, but the thought of being without her and my dad, without my friends –" She shuddered.

Identifying with her feelings, Harry put an arm around her shoulders. When she leaned into him, he said softly, "Your parents seem pretty intent on keeping you safe – same here…" Swallowing his nerves, he said, "Hermione, I've thought about this a lot." He lightly touched a fingertip to her mouth. "Ever since the festival."

Hermione flushed. "I doubt it's all you thought about, not with Snape –" When Harry tensed she slapped a hand to her forehead and groaned. "Sorry... I keep putting my foot in it!"

Harry sighed. "It's all right."

"No, Harry, it isn't."

"No." Harry agreed. "But what can I do about it? He won't tell me anything!"

"What did Mr. Dumbledore have to say about it?"

"Give Snape time to sort it out." He threw his head against the back of the sofa to stare unseeingly at the vaulted ceiling.

"He knows why they rowed?"

"Probably, but it's not as though I can ask him. They're really close. I can't see him betraying Snape's confidence."

"Well then, maybe you should do as he says… let Snape sort it out himself."

"Could you?" Harry frowned. Hermione shrugged half-heartedly then shook her head. "Besides, how can I when he's treating me like… like he did before?" Harry stood and began to pace. "And, Dumbledore, I wish you could've seen the look on his face when I got angry at Snape. He looked – pleased or glad or… something!"

"Honestly, Harry, Dumbledore, glad that you and Snape are rowing? He asked the man to look after you!"

"Yeah, but he wasn't happy with Snape when we left."

"Oh?"

"He wanted a say in where we went. Snape refused. He also refused to tell Dumbledore where we were going."

"That's why you chose him over Dumbledore? To spite the headmaster?"

"'Course not! Snape asked me what I wanted. Dumbledore just assumed I'd go along with whatever he had planned –but I couldn't. He'd deceived me about my magic, kept the contents of the prophecy from me…"

"Oh, Harry, it can't be easy heading up the Order, having to make decisions like that. He must have had a good reason."

Harry snorted his disapproval.

"Besides," she said. "Have you considered that whatever it is between them might not have anything to do with you? Snape and Dumbledore have a long history…"

Harry stopped pacing and rubbed his eyes, considering. There might be a case to be had there, but he couldn't fathom any reason why Snape would so suddenly and utterly destroy the peace between them – especially after all they had gone through to get there.

"I s'pose," he said, "but Dumbledore's manipulated nearly every aspect of my life since before I can even remember. Strange as it is, Snape has been the _only_ one to be honest with me. Snape! I never imagined I'd trust him more than Dumbledore…"

"Okay, then, why not try a different tack?"

"For what?"

"To fix this thing with Snape, of course!"

"Hermione, he doesn't want anything to do with me!"

"Just listen! Ask him about your training. You said you two hadn't fully worked out the details. Ask him about it. It's a much more neutral subject than discussing your relationship or trying to find out what Dumbledore said to him."

Harry thought that a brilliant idea.

*WO

**Dungeons, Hogwarts, September 1996**

Despite having hardly slept a wink, Harry rose at the crack of dawn on Monday to check the Marauder's map. He was determined to speak to Snape before breakfast. He caught up to the man just as he was about to enter his classroom.

"Professor!"

Snape turned, growling in aggravation. "What do you want, Potter?"

At that moment, Hermione's 'brilliant' idea seemed as ill-conceived as confronting a Chinese Fireball guarding her egg. When Harry failed to answer straight away, Snape snapped, "Well? Speak or be gone!"

"I'd like a word, sir, if – if you've a moment," Harry said, overcome with relief that his voice hadn't wavered, though it was pitched a bit higher than normal.

When Snape let himself into his classroom, Harry followed thinking it a good sign the man had not instantly sent him on his way.

"Make it quick, Potter. I have rather important things to attend to."

"Right, I just uh, I just wanted to be clear about my training. We talked about it at the Hog's Head, but we never decided exactly how we were going to do it…"

Snape walked to his desk and stowed his satchel. With his back to Harry, he picked up a random stack of parchments and began tapping them against the desk's hard surface repeatedly; it sounded like the dread ticking of a clock.

"I intended to broach this with you yesterday in your dorm," he said hesitantly. "While you do have a rather capable grasp of your magic now, the headmaster agrees that you need to carry on training. I – I'll catch him up on your progress and you and he can proceed from there."

"What!" Harry squawked. "You're going to let him train me? After I told you I don't trust him? And as I recall, you don't either!"

"Potter, there is more at stake than my concerns," Snape said, in a measured tone that grated on Harry's nerves.

"So, what about mine? Doesn't what I think count for anything?" Harry thrust his fists down alongside his body, desperate to hit something, namely Snape.

"Potter –"

"So, you're just going to give me over to him? Without a fight?"

"Potter! You're not _mine_ to give away! You're not chattel! You don't belong to any –"

"Yeah, no one has any claim to me! I remember…" Harry spat, disgusted the man hadn't the decency to face him as he cast him aside like rubbish. "I trusted you. I told Hermione that I trusted you more than Dumbledore because you've always told me the truth!"

"Well, I'm sorry to have shattered your illusion," Snape said, his voice taut as a tightly drawn violin string. "You of all people should know that life is imperfect, that people are imperfect, that they lie, they disappoint."

"I know that! But you're different! You're supposed to be different!" Harry swallowed. "And you didn't shatter any illusion, not really. I just wish I knew why you're so miserable… I wish I could… All I want is to help."

"Potter, I don't _need_ your help. Now get out!"

"No! I want to know why you're acting like this! Like you want me to hate you!" Harry's erratic breathing was the only sound in the cavernous room. "_Do_ you want me to hate you?" His voice shook; Snape remained still and silent, stone-like.

"Right, then…" Harry managed. "You win. You want me to hate you? I hate you! Okay? I hate you! I hate you! I HATE YOU!"

He fled as his voice cracked, threatening a sob. As soon as the door slammed shut behind him, he spun to pound his fists against it. Distorted by his tears, the thick, embellished oak wavered before him, making the magical beasts carved into the wood seem to come alive. Then just as he pulled back to throw himself against the door, something shattered against it from the other side. Startled, Harry cocked his head to listen. Hearing nothing, he stepped forward to grip the door's knob, prepared to go back in, but another crash drove him back. That crash was followed by a raw, hoarse scream that chilled him utterly.

*WO

For Harry, the week passed in a slow, aggravating haze of being ignored. Snape addressed him class, but he pointedly avoided eye contact with the boy at all times. One morning, Ron opened his mouth to comment on it, but noting Harry's crestfallen expression, Hermione stopped him with a cold glare. When feeling particularly spiteful about the situation, Harry did what he could – good and bad – to attract the man's attention, but Snape would not be baited.

To top off the hellish week, at day's end on Friday, Harry was trudging through the Entrance Hall on his way to Gryffindor Tower when Argus Filch oozed out of the shadows, his foul cat draped about his neck like some bedraggled, breathing stole. He accused Harry of releasing a Fanged Frisbee outside his office. Harry denied it as he had only moments before entered the castle after leaving one of the greenhouses; Professor Sprout had instructed him to replant the Alihotsy he had knocked over due to inattentiveness. That Harry was covered in dirt didn't seem to faze Filch in the least as he proceeded to verbally assault the boy. Already in an evil mood and now angry at being wrongly accused, Harry mouthed off to the hunchbacked caretaker. And as bad luck would have it, Snape happened upon them just as Harry was unloading some particularly crass suggestions of what Filch could do to himself.

Minutes later, Harry stormed past the Fat Lady and punted his book bag across the common room with a fierce kick. Dean Thomas, seated in a chair by the window playing wizard's chess with Ron, was the unintended target as it came to rest on his foot.

"S'eatin' you?" he said, not even looking up from the board.

"Snape!" Harry snarled and stomped over to where the boys were playing.

"What's he done now?" Ron asked, tapping one of his pawns on the head and pointing to a square. The pawn angrily scooted over, knowing it was about to be booted by Dean's bishop.

"Gave me detention for talking back to bloody Filch!" Harry raged. "He didn't even ask why!"

"He got on to you for sassin' Filch?" said Ron, squinting as Dean's bishop kicked his pawn off the board. "That's a switch. He's not had a cross word for you all week, even though you've acted a total lunatic in class. Not that I'm complaining…" he quickly interjected, "s'good to have you back in your right mind."

"'Right mind?'" Harry said.

"Yeah, remembering that Snape is a lying, sneaky, slimy git of a Slytherin."

"He's no liar."

"But he is sneaky, slimy, a git, and a Slytherin."

"Ron, just lay off him!"

Ron swiveled his head around to face Harry, astonished.

"Why? You used to think the same things about him, if not worse!"

"Yeah, but I was wrong! I can at least admit it – unlike some people…"

"Hey!" Ron growled. "Don't bring up rubbish from fourth year! You know I felt bad about that!"

"You never said it!" Harry shot back. "Just pretended like it never happened! Well I can't pretend that Snape and I didn't get along, that I don't care about him!"

"Blimey, so you _care_ about him?" Ron looked about the common room in mock fear. "Somebody get hold of St. Mungo's mental ward! The wizarding world's savior's gone round the twist!"

"S' not funny, Ron," said Neville, eyeing the redhead warily from his spot on one of the sofas.

Ron squinched his eyes shut and knocked a fist against his forehead. "Neville… I didn't mean –"

"Yeah, you never mean anything that comes out of your mouth, do you?" Harry spat. "No matter how idiotic…"

"Look here, Harry –"

"No Ron, 'til you get to know Snape the way I have, you'd best keep your opinions about him to yourself when I'm around!"

Ron clenched his jaw, and his ears reddened explosively. "Right, but first, answer me this," he said, his voice volcanic with fury. "Why're you so arsed at him right now that you'd dare vent about him round me, eh? Why not go to Hermione, to someone who eats up the idea of you and him getting on?"

With no ready defense, Harry swallowed, and lowered his eyes to the floor. Ron was right. He was beyond angry with Snape, and Ron had simply reacted as he always had when Harry had complained about the man. And hadn't that been what he wanted – needed? To have his feelings of rejection and hurt validated?

"Harry?" Warm, soft fingers encircled his wrist. "Come on."

With his eyes glued to the floor, Harry allowed himself to be led out of the common room and out through the portrait hole. He continued down the stairs, oblivious of the questioning stares, cheerful greetings and various odd looks as he progressed through the castle, but he came alive when he began to feel chilled and the walls began to grow darker. He looked up and jerked back, trying to free his wrist.

"Le'me go, Hermione!"

"Harry, you need to talk to him."

"No, I need to be as far away from him as…" Harry took a jerky breath. "I'll say or do something I'll regret. I know it."

"You won't," Hermione said. "Just… tell him how you feel."

"How I feel?" Harry snorted. "Right now, I _hate_ him! That's how I feel." Then he gulped and lowered his eyes. "Hermione, why – why does he hate me?" he whispered brokenly. "What did I _do_?"

"Oh, Harry." Hermione sighed softly. "He doesn't, he couldn't possibly –"

"But he does! You have no idea how he was before and how he is now!"

"Yes, I do. Just talk to him! Don't let your pride ruin this for you. That kind of thing is fine between you and Ron, but the longer you don't speak to the professor, the longer you let this go on, I'm afraid you'll lose your chance to make things right!"

"No! I don't need to make things right. I don't need him!"

"God, you two are so much alike –"

"…What?"

"Nothing." Hermione's lips barely moved as she lied.

"Hermione!"

"I just told him that you haven't been eating and Neville says you don't sleep!"

"Why would you do that?" Harry screeched. "And what's Neville know about anything?"

"Harry! He's your friend, and he's worried about you. We all are!"

"_He's _not!" Harry jerked his head toward Snape's closed classroom door.

"Harry, he's human, he makes mistakes, too! He's probably regretting what he said just as much as you are! You can make this right, I know you can, just… be the bigger person this time!"

"No... He wants things back the way they were, fine, great, GRAND!" Harry shouted at the door.

"What in the –" Snape rounded the corner, his robes billowing ominously. When he saw the two Gryffindors, the scowl lodged on his face faltered. His eyebrows shot up in surprise and he stopped short as if someone had flipped a switch. He recovered quickly though.

"What is your business here, Potter?" He snarled.

"Nothing," said Harry, his gaze flinty, challenging. "We were just lea –"

"No, we weren't, Professor." Hermione interjected and stepped forward. "Harry really needs to have a word with you."

"Leave off, Hermione!" Harry growled, his eyes never leaving Snape's.

Snape cocked his head as if curious. "Say what is on your mind, Potter."

"It's nothing that concerns you... sir," Harry replied icily.

"Well, then get back to your common room and _stay out_ of the dungeons." Snape hissed.

"Of course, _sir_, right away." Unknowingly both wizards had moved closer to each other and were now standing toe to toe, eyeing each other with a palpable disdain.

"Harry! Stop it!" Hermione said. When he didn't respond, she looked up at Snape, her expression both imploring and disbelieving as he loomed over Harry. "Professor!"

Snape's eye twitched and he stepped back, shrugging his shoulders as if to relieve undue pressure.

"Be on your way, both of you." His expression was arctic. Harry's knees weakened. Ron was right; Snape hadn't changed. Why would he?

"C'mon, Hermione," Harry said, desperate to flee before he embarrassed himself by bursting into tears.

"Don't forget, Potter," Snape called, "detention. Eight o'clock. Do _not_ be late."

*WO

**Snape's Quarters, Hogwarts, September 1996 (05)**

At 7:51 p.m., Harry arrived at Snape's quarters. Dreading his first detention of the year, he shuffled nervously back and forth then began a staring contest with the door. After a time he glanced at his watch: _7:55 p.m._ His nose itched. As he reached to scratch it, he suddenly wondered if Snape had disabled the entrance spell. He exhaled.

"Harry Potter." His voice was barely a whisper. When nothing happened, he tried again, more forcefully. "_Harry Potter_."

The door remained stubbornly closed. When tears burned at his eyes, he rubbed at them angrily, denying them the chance to fall. He didn't want to give Snape the satisfaction of knowing that having to beg access to the man's quarters bothered him.

_7:59 p.m._ Dejected, Harry knocked. Snape pulled the door open as if he had been poised there, awaiting the signal. He glanced at the boy's reddened eyes as Harry stalked past, but said nothing. Harry stopped at the entrance to the sitting room, unsure of where to go or what to do.

"In here, Mr. Potter." Snape breezed past Harry into the sitting room. Harry trailed him as Snape took a seat in the chair closest to the fireplace.

"Sit," Snape said.

Harry remained standing. "What's my punishment?"

"Mr. Potter, I instructed you to sit down."

"Just tell me what –"

"I'll not repeat myself! You either do as I say or –"

"Or what? OR WHAT? We're not at Soth-ince anymore, you bastard! I told –"

Snape shot to his feet, white-faced. "HOW DARE YOU! As you said, we are _not_ at Soth-ince anymore. I now see what a mistake it was to allow you to become so common with me!"

"_Common?_ Wha –"

"THAT ENDS NOW! For days you've been acting out of turn and I've not said a word about it, but no more. What you choose to call me outside of my presence is none of my concern, but when you address me, you shall do so respectfully. Any deviation shall result in detention! Is that understood, _Potter_?"

Snape's bitter emphasis on Harry's name made him feel as though his heart was being pummeled by a world-class boxer. At a sudden loss for words, and air, he could only wobble his head weakly.

"Now, return to your dorm straight away!"

Without a sound, Harry fled the dungeons, a terrible ache in his stomach.

*WO


	15. Chapter 15

Disclaimer: JK Rowling's characters.

**Gryffindor Tower, Hogwarts, September 1996 (20)**

Nearly three weeks on and the ache in Harry's stomach had consistently leapfrogged until it was now a fiery nexus of unremitting pain. Between Potions classes, meals in the Great Hall, and frequent chance run-ins with Snape, the castle often felt like a one-room flat. Harry hated it.

The only words passed between the two wizards were in class where Harry gave perfunctory, yet always accurate responses to Snape's queries. At those times Ron and some others glanced at him sideways, but having resided with a Potions master over the summer had its benefits.

For a change, Harry gave up on acting out as it did nothing to relieve his anger or his misery. On the occasions he sat in class immovably silent, he imagined he felt Snape's dark gaze on him, but when he looked up Snape was always otherwise engaged – either writing at his desk or hunched over a student's cauldron inspecting their work. Noting Harry's pining behavior, Hermione offered up some plain-spoken advice.

"If you're so miserable, Harry, talk to him!"

She stopped pushing the issue, though after he stormed away from dinner one night and didn't speak to her for two days. Having already attempted to make peace with Snape, Harry wasn't willing to get burned again.

Friday evening, following a short visit to the hospital wing Harry dragged himself up to his room. Pomfrey had prescribed a different potion to ease his stomach pain, but just like the other two she had given him over the past three weeks, it didn't work. He lay on his bed listening to the ruckus floating up from the common room. A mixed group of fifth and sixth-years were celebrating Hermione's birthday, belatedly. He had wanted to be there – instead he had apologized to her, pleading a headache. When he gave her the bracelet he had ordered by owl, she'd smiled sweetly at him, saying she understood, then shooed him off to bed.

Just as he was beginning to doze, a shout sounded in the stairwell followed by the door crashing open with a resounding boom. Peals of laughter and a few shouts seeped into the room as someone collided into the side of his bed, jostling him.

"Sorry, mate!"

"S'all right." Harry murmured. He pushed his glasses up to rub his eyes. "How's the do?"

"Be better if you were there." Ron eased himself down onto the bed to sit beside Harry. "It'd do you good to get out of here for a bit. Seems like the only time you leave is for class. It's boring already! C'mon!"

"I just don't feel good." Harry moaned then gripped his stomach. It felt as if a battalion of fire ants was charging around, biting and stinging every available bit of flesh.

"You need Pomfrey?" Ron peered down at him anxiously.

The plump nurse had been called to their room once already after Harry's belabored moaning one night had frightened his dorm mates into seeking her out.

"No… I just really wanna go to sleep." Harry closed his eyes, and turned to lie on his stomach; it seemed to dull the burning sensation a bit.

"…All right," Ron said, though clearly, he was still worried. "You'd better be feeling better by tomorrow afternoon, though." He gave Harry a friendly poke on the shoulder. "It's Quidditch tryouts and Angelina… she'll have my head if you don't show up."

"Why?"

"Ah..." Ron's eyebrow twitched nervously. "Well, she thinks your stomach problems are 'cause we been arguing so much lately. I told her we're fine now…"

"Yeah, we are," Harry mumbled into his pillow, just as relieved they had made up as Ron was.

"Well, I'll get outta your hair," Ron said as Harry's eyes began to flutter shut. He ruffled the scattered mess on Harry's head and just barely avoided being swatted on the nose by the drowsy boy.

*WO

Downstairs the Howlin' Ha'nts howled from the wireless. Seamus performed hand stands for Padma and Parvati Patil while chugging – or choking – on butterbeer from the three bottles he had charmed to release the liquid whenever he tapped them with a finger. Parvati's disinterest was plain as she sat with her arms crossed tightly over her chest, rolling her eyes; Padma – Seamus's true target – sat forward, intrigued, but leery. Dean shook his head at the spectacle then went about trying to engage Ginny in conversation. At the far end of the sofa Luna sat quietly, her legs curled beneath her as she considered Ron who was chatting up a giggling, hair-tossing, Lavender.

Several times Hermione tried to beg off so that she could start her report for Arithmancy. She leaned over to tap Ron on the knee, telling him that if she started now, she could finish it before Hallowe'en.

"But Hermione, it's a hundred pages! And it's not even due 'til March!"

"Yes, but…" She cast a glance at the stairs leading to the sixth-year boys' dorm; he followed her gaze.

"He's okay," he said softly, then grabbed her hand. "I was just up there, besides, you can't leave. Least not 'til you have a go at the game Fred and George sent special for you."

Reluctantly, she allowed him to lead her to the sofa nearest the fireplace. Duly trapped between Luna and Dean, Hermione again glanced at the stairs leading to where Harry lay.

*WO

Harry dreamed he was flying, sheltered within a rainbow – but its vivid rays were rife with something terrible and painful, barring him from moving beyond it. As he probed frantically for a way out, he spotted blurry, bobbing shapes of white, red, brown and black beneath him. Then suddenly, his skin caught fire, melting away from his bones in dreadful, grayish clumps – then there was a flash of white, then nothing. The dream made no sense, but the burning in his stomach spiked ten-fold.

Harry screamed, thinking he would gladly give away the contents of his vault if he could stop waking up in such a dramatic fashion. He knew he'd been heard as the sudden hush of the revelry downstairs was followed by a stampede of feet pounding up the stairs; soon, a crowd of concerned, anxious faces circled his bed.

"Harry!"

"Hermione?" Harry gasped.

"Yes, what's wrong?" She rushed to join him on his bed; he groaned, grateful for her touch when she grasped his hand.

"Merlin, mate, we thought you were being murdered!" Ron croaked. "You okay?"

"No…"

"What do you need?" Ginny asked; Harry threw up.

"Oh, urgh!" Seamus dry heaved then covered his eyes. "I'll go get Pomfrey!"

"No!" Harry moaned. "_Snape_..."

"Who?" Neville yelped.

"You heard him!" Hermione snapped. "Someone go get Snape!"

*WO

Snape strode into the room prompting Ron to edge most everybody out, save Neville, Dean, and Ginny. Pale and sweaty, Harry continued to moan and thrash about. Having spelled away the mess he'd made, Hermione sat curled up next to him, clasping his hands in hers. She rose to allow Snape to sit, but remained standing close behind him.

"Potter!" said Snape. Ignoring Hermione's shocked inhalation Snape clenched his jaw, then laid a hand on Harry's chest, attempting to still the boy's movements. "Potter…" he repeated, but with less bite.

Harry's eyes snapped open to find Snape frowning down at him. He launched himself at the man, clutching his arm, and burying his face in Snape's chest.

Snape stiffened, but Harry didn't care; nor did he care about the loud, puzzled gasps from his Housemates: it had been a long, hard three weeks of scathing comments and cold-shoulders – he needed this.

"What's troubling you?" Snape asked quietly.

"My stomach." Harry whimpered, tears threatening to fall.

"Lie back," Snape said. Harry obeyed instantly.

Snape parted Harry's robes and began to gently probe the area below his ribs. Harry inhaled sharply but the pain was not as bitingly intense as it had been. Satisfied nothing was broken, swollen, or bruised, Snape rested his narrow hand again on Harry's chest.

"You've been to see Madam Pomfrey?"

Harry nodded. "She gave me a Stomach Calming Draught..."

"Yet the pain is still great?" Snape's brow crinkled in concern.

"No. It's better now actually."

"How long have you been hurting?"

Harry reached to fiddle with the cuff of Snape's robe. "I… er..."

"_Potter_…"

"Three – uh, two wee –"

Snape's eyebrows rose to meet his hairline. "You've been carrying on like this for _weeks_?"

"M-maybe not that long. A-a couple days… or so?"

Hearing the lie in Harry's voice, Snape gazed at him so intently, the boy blushed. Harry wondered, not for the first time, what it was that Snape found so fascinating when he looked at him like that – as if he was having the devil of a time trying to figure him out.

"Er, s' Harry all right, sir?" Seamus said, as Snape and Harry seemed to have forgotten others were in the room.

"He'll be fine," said Snape, his eyes roving over Harry's flushed face. "But you all need to step outside."

"I'm not going anywhere!" Ron said.

Snape twisted around and said, "Mr. Weasley, you _will_ leave this room."

"And if I don't?"

Neville, who had watched the exchange between Harry and Snape with great interest murmured, "C'mon, Ron." He then gripped the taller boy's arm in an attempt to get Ron to move toward the door.

"He can't make me leave; this is _my_ room!" Ron said, wrenching free of Neville.

"If I have to repeat myself, you and I shall be in each other's company, _every_ weekend until final exams," Snape said, eyeing Ron beadily.

"Ron!" Harry interjected, when the redhead opened his mouth to retort. He thought it wise to cut the boy off before he ended up having to live in the dungeons to complete all the detentions he was sure to get. "Go, I'll be okay."

Ron shot a nasty glance at Snape before responding to Ginny's hand on his arm. "I'll be back in fifteen minutes, Harry..." he said then followed his sister out.

Hermione, red-eyed and worried, sniffed softly. Harry felt awful. This night was to have been about her. When he gave her an apologetic look she reached to touch his foot in assurance. The last to leave, she glanced back before stepping out of the room. Snape watched until the door clicked closed then turned back to Harry. He seemed angry.

"Why did you send for me instead of Madam Pomfrey?"

"I told you... the potion she gave me... it didn't work… sir." Harry toyed restlessly with his tie, avoiding Snape's eyes.

"I daresay she would have given you something more effective had you inquired."

"I s'pose… I just... I just... Sir?" Harry grimaced as he pushed up to rest his back against the headboard. "What did I do?"

"Do?" Snape reached into his robes and pulled two vials from his pocket. He shook one lightly then held it up to eye its contents.

"To make you hate me – again?"

Snape stilled then slowly lowered his hand to his lap.

"Because, I know you're mad at Dumbledore, but what did_ I_ do? I mean, I get that you were mad at me for coming up to the castle that night, and I'm really sorry for doing it – I know it was stupid, that something could have happened, and that Dumbledore would have blamed you, but I – I was worried 'cause you were so upset… And then, since school started, I know I've been a real idiot –"

Snape held up a hand to stay Harry's rambling mea culpa.

"First," he said, "coming up to the castle _was_ utterly wrongheaded, but my concern was not that the headmaster would blame me if something happened to you. Second, you needn't concern yourself with whether I'm angry at the headmaster or him with me. And as for you being 'a real idiot', well… you're not alone." He finished quietly.

"Then, why?" Harry sat forward. Demanding green eyes bored into black until Snape looked down.

"I have my reasons, Potter, but hating you isn't one of them."

"But, you changed the charm on your door," Harry blurted, still not convinced. "I couldn't get in."

Snape flushed. "I had no reason to suspect that you would need, or want access to my quarters."

"Oh," Harry said, slumping back against his pillow. "I guess I was just used to being able to come and go, and… I was hoping you'd change your mind about training together."

"Yes, about that… The headmaster says you've disregarded his every request to meet with him."

"I don't need to meet with him," Harry said. "I've been practicing on my own, mostly here in the dorm." He looked suddenly impish.

His dorm mates were all well aware of his wandless magic, had been since the first week of term. They didn't mind it so long as they weren't asked to consciously participate in any of his 'mad experiments' as Seamus had dubbed them. Initially, they had been deeply impressed, even offering to take an oath of secrecy. They had also encouraged him to try out some of his magic on them, but that free-wheeling feeling quickly cooled after Seamus had had to explain away his unusually rosy lips and doe-like lashes to curious classmates one day.

"I really didn't think it was _that_ noticeable," Dean had said, trying not to laugh in his friend's face. "Did you, N-Neville?"

"Not really, no…" Neville had insisted, though he was determinedly looking everywhere but at Seamus.

That evening, after witnessing the fuming boy stomp out of the Great Hall to a colorful litany of catcalls, Harry, along with Ron, had wisely chosen to visit Charlie after dinner. Charlie had tried to get rid of them after an hour, claiming he had a shipment of Blast-Ended Skrewts coming at dawn, but Harry and Ron dug in, wanting to stay until the spell wore off. They hoped to be spared the worst of Seamus's notorious Irish wrath. It was well after midnight before they finally ventured out to return to the dorm. Charlie was none too pleased for having to escort them up to the castle. He kept muttering loudly about how he hoped Seamus spelled them bald.

"The guys are fine with it," Harry said. "Although, Neville nearly skinned me for catching his rare Flitterbloom on fire."

Snape raised his eyebrows.

"I was trying to cast a non-verbal Flame-Freezing charm."

"Proof you are still in dire need of guidance." Snape swiped a hand over his eyes.

"Not if it means I have to work with Dumbledore!" Harry threw his arms across his chest.

Snape regarded him a moment, then said, "You won't… You shall train with me."

"Oh," said Harry, his tone flat and dismissive. Then he replayed Snape's words. "_Oh!_" he said, eyes widening in happy surprise. "Great! I mean – good," he finished, as nonchalantly as he could, though his lips were turned up into a smile.

"Yes, well, be prepared to work hard."

"I will," Harry said. "So, Dumbledore's all right with it?"

Snape cleared his throat. "He will be."

"What –"

"Just let me handle things, please."

Snape had begun clasping and un-clasping his hands. He quickly stretched them out, forcing them into stillness on his thighs. Frowning, Harry leaned forward, preparing to take the man's hands in his; Snape snatched them out of his reach.

Harry looked at him, concerned. "Are they bothering you?"

"No, Potter… I'm fine. Now, your stomach." Snape's tone was all business.

"It's better," Harry said. In fact the burning had subsided to a bearably dull ache the instant Snape said they would resume training together.

"Miss Granger never let on that anything of the sort –"

"I didn't tell her," Harry said. "I made Ron promise not to tell her either because I knew she was telling you things about me…" He began twisting his fingers together nervously. "So, you _were_ worried about me?"

Just as Snape opened his mouth to respond, something hit the door, making them jump in alarm.

"_Oof_! Bloody hell! Harry! Why d'you lock the door?" Ron. He began to rattle the doorknob furiously. "Harry? You in there?" He began to pound on the door.

"Ron!" Harry called. "I'm fine!"

"Then why's the door locked!"

Harry raised an eyebrow at Snape who, evading Harry's gaze, casually eased his left leg over his right; he then began to study his robes, picking at non-existent lint. Ron was soon joined by other voices.

"He says he's all right, but why lock the door?"

"Ron, just leave him be!"

"Hermione! He's locked in there – with _Snape_!"

"So? Come on!"

"No! Either he's comin' out or I'm goin' in! _Alohomora!_"

"Ron..."

"_ALOHOMORA!_" A loud thud sounded against the solid pine door, followed by a pained grunt.

"_Ron!_" Hermione sounded beyond exasperated. Harry sat wide-eyed, poised to leap off the bed.

There was another thud, followed by another and another, in quick succession. Finally, Snape waved his hand at the door and all fell silent.

"I should go check on him." Harry scooted to the foot of the bed.

"No, you shouldn't." Snape seized the back of Harry's robes to drag him back up the bed. He then pressed Harry down onto his pillows.

"But Ron –"

"– shall be fine. _You_ need to rest." Snape held out to Harry one of the bottles he had pulled from his pocket. "Drink."

"But, I feel better now. It's not burning like –" When Snape's eyebrow began to travel upward, Harry quickly grabbed the bottle and put it to his lips.

"Three sips now, three sips when you wake." Snape rose to go.

"Wait!" Harry sputtered, choking on the bit of bitter liquid he had yet to swallow.

"What now, Potter?"

Despite Snape's harassed look, Harry longed to ask the man to stay until he fell asleep. But as quickly as the thought formed, it was lost to the fast-acting effects of the potion; the vial nearly slipped through his fingers as drowsiness overtook him. Lighting quick, Snape palmed the small bottle before it could fall.

Harry was desperate to communicate: "Don't go, yet… Stay… p'ease," he murmured. When Snape didn't reply, Harry tried lifting his eyelids to see if the man had gone, but they felt as though someone had taped them shut, so he settled for whispering, "Don' go..."

Frozen as if someone had cast _Petrificus Totalus_ on him, Snape stared at Harry, taking the boy in from head to toe. When his eyes began to burn, he shifted his attention to the rickety nightstand next to Harry's bed. Its nicked surface held a rusted red lantern, Harry's wand, and a photo of Harry, Hermione, and Ron laughing. Beside that was a slightly larger photo of James and Lily, beaming as they held a giggling, black-haired baby in their arms; baby Harry squirmed and grinned toothlessly as they tickled his rounded belly. Snape's gaze lingered on Lily momentarily, but it was the last item on the nightstand that caused him to lose his breath: resting just in front of the photo of Harry and his parents was a small seashell of white and tan spirals.

Snape's legs gave out and he collapsed gracelessly onto the bed next to Harry. He began to shiver uncontrollably – chilled at sight of that shell; chilled at its obvious significance to the boy, and chilled at his own behavior since that meeting with Dumbledore.

That night, as Snape had trekked through the Forbidden Forest back to Hogsmeade, he had done to himself what he had done expertly and with clear malice to countless others during his stint as a Death Eater and since Voldemort's 'rebirth': He had lied. He had convinced himself that Dumbledore was right, that nothing good could come of his continued involvement with Harry – especially not with the dark shadow of the prophecy's origins looming. Undoubtedly, he could look after the boy at a distance as he had always done, but the past few weeks had proved how difficult that would be, if not impossible.

'_Harry has rather a knack for insinuating his way into one's heart.' _

Harry snuffled softly as those damning words echoed in Snape's head. Trembling, he reached to gently smooth Harry's dampened fringe off his forehead. Lingering a moment, he pressed the back of his hand lightly to the flushed skin immediately below Harry's hairline; he was warm, but not alarmingly so. Still, Snape loosened the red and gold tie to remove it, then with a practiced ease, he gently maneuvered Harry's limp body to divest him of his robe. Lastly, he removed Harry's glasses and shoes before standing so that he could pull the covers up over the boy.

Making a contented sound, Harry burrowed down into the bed, bringing his knees up as he always did so that he could curl around them. One wandering knee connected sharply with Snape's hipbone.

"Potter..." Snape growled softly. Then with a decidedly steady hand he began to caress Harry's hair again.

*WO

**Sixth Year Boy**'**s Dorm, Gryffindor Tower, Hogwarts, September 1996 **

"What happened after I left for the hospital wing?" Ron asked next morning.

"Not much. We sat around waiting to see how Harry was," Dean said. "What'd you tell Pomfrey?"

"That I got banged up in Quidditch practice." Ron rolled his shoulder, testing that the soreness was gone.

"How odd, considering tryouts are _today_," Dean said, so focused on the sketch pad resting against his knee, he missed Ron flipping two fingers his way.

"Snape was up here a really long time," said Neville.

"The party was done for anyway, 'specially after Harry's nightm –"

"Blimey, Seamus!" Ron exclaimed.

"S'all right," said Harry.

"Why so cheerful, Harry?" Neville asked.

"Yeah, mate," Dean said. "You been grinnin' like Hagrid in a room full of baby dragons since you woke up… What gives?"

"I have not!" Harry protested half-heartedly, snickering at the image of Hagrid dashing about madly to shift snarling baby dragons from one smoking cot to one not yet on fire. "I'm just glad the pain is gone. I slept really well, too – for once."

"Yeah, we rather appreciate not having to wake up to your screeching solos," Ron teased, easily ducking Harry's flying pillow. He swiftly batted it back in Harry's direction, hitting him plumb in the face, knocking his glasses off.

"Ow!"

"Well, I'm goin' to shower and then down to breakfast 'fore they quit servin'," Seamus said, leaping off his bed. With a mischievous smirk, he said, "You best be that quick out on the pitch, Weasley!"

"Sod off, Finnigan!"

Neville and Dean gathered their things for the shower as well, chatting amiably on their way out of the room. With a happy exhale Harry resettled his glasses and lay back, luxuriating in the feel of the sun's morning rays and the knowledge that Snape didn't hate him. Quidditch tryouts could not have come at a better time. Harry felt like flying loops around the moon!

*WO

On their way out to the pitch, Harry and the boys – along with Hermione and Ginny – ran into Draco Malfoy. Flanked by his ever present beefy entourage, he looked, if possible, worse than he had that day on Diagon Alley.

Since term began, the Slytherin had been uncharacteristically subdued, strangely eschewing any attempts to antagonize Harry or his friends. Engrossed with how things were seemingly failing with Snape, Harry had paid no attention to Draco's behavior until Ron remarked upon it.

"Bit weird, isn't it?" Ron had asked in hushed tones one day while they sat, bored, in History of Magic.

"What?" Hermione inquired, eyes glued to her parchment as she scribbled down every word Binns intoned.

"Malfoy. He's not been himself. You know, annoying, hateful... _Malfoy_."

With chin in hand, Harry entertained himself by watching the whirlwind of dust motes above Neville's head. The round-faced boy kept running his fingers through his hair in frustration with one hand, while taking furious notes with the other, obviously struggling to keep up with Binns' wheezing narrative.

"So? All the better for us," Harry said then started doodling once the dust storm began to settle.

"Well, yeah, but what's wrong with him?"

"Ron, if you're so concerned – go ask him, if not, be quiet!" Hermione hissed.

Unmoved by Hermione's outburst Ron said: "Doesn't he look… off or something?"

Since Ron wasn't likely to let the subject drop Harry took a moment to glance over at the blond boy. Draco did look wanner and thinner since their encounter in front of Madam Malkin's, but Harry didn't find it particularly concerning; Draco was thin, wan and had Lucius Malfoy for a father – he _should_ look like hell.

But, squinting, Harry determined that the dark shadows seen in profile below the boy's eyes were unusual, making him look ragged and bruised. Harry's gaze drifted lower to Draco's hands perched upon the desk; they were trembling slightly. Suddenly, Draco turned. Both boys started when their eyes met. Draco's blank gaze turned anxious, but Harry's eyes widened with shock. The Slytherin looked even worse than Harry had imagined!

"Blimey!" Ron whispered. Hearing the disquiet in Ron's voice, Hermione looked up from her notes and gasped. With all three Gryffindors' eyes on him, Draco paled – a feat within itself considering how ghostly he already looked. He quickly twisted back to face the front of the class.

"You're right, Ron!" Hermione said, sounding horrified.

"Yeah, I – What?" Ron yelped, garnering some interested glances from his vacant-eyed classmates.

"Malfoy looks positively dreadful!" Hermione said. "Goodness! What could be wrong with him?"

They had then spent the rest of class, heads together, whispering about that day on Diagon Alley and Draco's curious behavior with his father. But now, in the hallway, they were shocked – not by his appearance, but by him asking to have a word with Harry.

"Being around You-Know-Who this summer must have messed your mind Malfoy if you think for one bloody second that Harry wants to talk to you!" Ron leaned his bulk toward the slighter Slytherin; Crabbe and Goyle tensed, but made no defensive moves on Draco's behalf.

"Heel boy, before I alert the Ministry of rabid weasels running amok in the castle!" Draco sneered, familiar Malfoy haughtiness rising to the fore.

"Why you pinch-faced son-of-a –!"

"What do you want, Malfoy?" Harry said, stepping between the two boys.

"Just a word, Potter."

Draco's desire to speak with Harry alone was obvious in the way his gray eyes darted warily between Harry and the others. Though equally wary, Harry couldn't deny he was curious of what the boy had to say. He turned and told the others to continue on to the pitch without him.

"Harry..." Hermione said.

"It's fine. Go on, I'll catch up."

Ron grumbled and threw suspicious glances over his shoulder as the small group of Gryffindors headed slowly toward the Entrance Hall. Inclining his head slightly, Draco sent Crabbe and Goyle on their way, as well.

"What do you want?" said Harry, making sure his wand was visible. He still made use of it in classes, thinking it no one's business that he could perform magic without it; he was satisfied that those he wanted to know about his wandless magic already knew.

"You won't need that." Draco nodded at the wand.

"I can decide that for myself, thanks. What do you _want_, Malfoy?"

"Keep – keep an eye out for yourself."

Harry snorted. "You don't like me and last term you couldn't wait to join up with Umbridge's little club of sadists and snitches to try and get me booted out of here – or worse. Why the sudden concern?"

Draco blanched. "Just… trust me on this, Potter."

Unimpressed with the boy's urgent tone and laughable request to 'trust' him, Harry started away, eager to be outside with his friends. He growled in irritation when Draco rushed to stand in front of him, putting a hand to his chest.

"Look, Potter, do you really think I'd –"

"Lie? Yeah, I do, Malfoy. Now, move!" Harry's gaze turned steely as he knocked Draco's hand away, but the Slytherin stood his ground.

"My father," Draco whispered harshly, turning even paler as he looked about, nervous, "he and my aunt are planning something involving _you_, and I know I don't need to tell you how eager either one of them are to please the Dark Lord! So, I'm telling you, _be careful_."

Just then, a stream of puffy-eyed late-risers sauntered down the stairs, headed to the Great Hall for a bite or beyond to start their day. Ignoring the influx, Harry calmly considered Draco; the same could not be said of the Slytherin.

Draco was a study in fear, and at that moment he seemed powerless to control it. He twitched as though he expected to be hexed at any second, he was unusually sweaty, and his breathing was irregular. Add to that, Harry had been around the boy long enough to know when he was lying. Befitting his personality, Draco was brazenly predatory, always eager to witness the consequences his lie exacted upon whoever had displeased him, but there was no hint of that cocksureness now, only an unnerving earnestness that made Harry wonder why he was telling him this, why he was risking being seen talking to Harry when it clearly made him uneasy?

Holding Draco's skittish gaze, Harry caught a crystal vision of Lucius and Bellatrix in an impeccable, but coldly designed room. The fire blazing in the imposing black marble fireplace did nothing to imbue the space with warmth. Numerous torches illuminated the room's 'walls' which were actually towers of gleaming mahogany shelves lined with books, some of whose spines looked spun from silk, while older tomes fairly sparked with Dark Magic. Amid all that cool decadence sat Lucius, positioned regally behind a massive mahogany desk as long as two chaise lounges and as wide as Uncle Vernon and Dudley put together. Bellatrix, clad in silken robes of violet, with her shiny black hair swept up to rest at the nape of her neck, stalked restlessly back and forth before Lucius, her small hands clawing and stabbing the air as she spoke; her mad eyes and twisted mouth marred her beauty utterly.

Finally, Draco closed his eyes, severing the connection. When he opened them, he looked a bit awestruck, but also strangely relieved.

"I'm not lying," he said.

Harry knew that; the memory was flawless and fluid, exactly as Snape had said a true memory would be, but he wasn't about to admit that to Draco.

"I don't care," he said. "In any case, you don't need to worry about me. I'm fine."

"…I know." Draco's jaw clenched and a strange flash of hurt filled his gray eyes before he turned to walk away.

Puzzled by that, Harry shook his head. Then before he could stop himself, he called out, "Malfoy!" Draco turned back. "_You _okay?"

Draco's gray eyes widened with surprise, then resumed their typical snarky slant when Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson exited the Great Hall.

"Never better, Potter," Draco called back, having conjured up the smirk that reminded Harry of the boy he had met in Madam Malkin's all those years ago. Draco then put his hands in his trousers' pockets and strode away, Pansy between him and Blaise.

*WO

At dinner that night, Harry was hard pressed to keep his eyes off the High Table. He was pleased to see Snape in his seat, looking typically severe as he scanned the room. Though his black eyes were on the prowl for the slightest hint of trouble-making, Harry thought the man looked more relaxed than he had done in recent days.

"You gonna tell Dumbledore what Malfoy said?" Ron asked around a mouthful of peas.

"No, but I'll mention it to Snape," Harry said. Ron nearly gagged on his tongue.

"Look, I know you got issues with Dumbledore, but he can at least have the Order look into it, see if there's something there."

"Something where?" asked Hermione, slamming a small tower of books onto the table.

"Malfoy's 'warning,'" Ron said, eyes sweeping over the books. "That about Gryffindors?" He pointed his fork at the spine of a thick tome bearing a griffin and the title _Llyfr Gwyn Rhydderch._

"No, it's a book of Welsh legends. It has information on the Adar Llwch Gwin, a giant mythological bird that can speak."

"What did you find out?" Harry asked, scooting close to look over her shoulder at the opened book.

"Nothing really any different from what Hagrid told you, though they seem to fancy Bugbears as a snack."

"I just hope he's all right, that he hasn't been captured or… anything," Harry said.

"We'd know, either way," Hermione said confidently. "Dumbledore wouldn't keep that secret from us."

"Charlie's been pretty tight-lipped about how long he'll be teachin' Hagrid's classes," Ron said. "He must not be coming back any time soon."

"_Mr. Potter_."

Harry jumped, upsetting his goblet of pumpkin juice. Hermione scrambled for her wand to clear up the orange liquid before it reached her books. Harry twisted around in his seat certain Snape would be right behind him.

"_Mr. Potter, up here_."

Harry turned his attention to the High Table. Snape was seated in his chair, delicately spooning vegetable soup into his mouth.

"_Meet me outside the Room of Requirement at 8 p.m. Make use of your Cloak_."

"Harry, mate, you all right?" Ron asked, frowning as he reached across to right Harry's goblet.

"Yeah, I'm… yeah."

"Harry?"

"S' okay, Hermione. Snape wants to start training tonight," Harry said.

"Oh? You've spoken since this afternoon? When I asked you about it earlier –"

"He just told me," Harry said, with a chuckle.

Hermione and Ron glanced at each other. "_Just_ told you?" Ron echoed, concerned.

"Legilimency."

"But, you need eye contact for that!" Ron said.

"I know," said Harry, with a shrug.

"Bloody hell," Ron whispered, casting a furtive glance up at the Potions master.

*WO

**Room of Requirement, Hogwarts, September 1996 (21)**

Harry stepped into the Room of Requirement, thinking that the space could have been plucked right out of Grimmauld Place, but mid-step, it shifted and he found himself in an even more familiar setting: the land surrounding Soth-ince. He inhaled deeply – it even smelled of the garden and the sea. The only things missing were Fang and the cottage. Snape raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"Why'd it change?" Harry asked.

"You need to be comfortable in your surroundings," Snape said. "It adapted." He shrugged off his outer robes. "Let's begin."

Eager to move beyond the hardship of the past few weeks, Harry intuited that Snape felt similarly and they quickly fell back into the easy rhythm they had established in Cornwall. After fifteen minutes of Harry levitating a range of objects from a quill to a piece of deadwood the size of the Whomping Willow, the two wizards then engaged in a mock battle where Harry ended up suspended high above the ground, laughingly screeching for Snape to let him down. The man had unleashed a tickling charm on the boy, midair.

"Really," Harry gasped, "I'm… gonna… be s-sick… _please!"_

Snape slowly righted Harry and gently set him on his feet, lifting the charm.

"What was that for?" Harry asked, trying to catch his breath, but grinning widely.

"I would have thought it was obvious," Snape said quietly, his somber air at odds with what he had just done.

"Give me a hint," Harry said, fingering his ribs where the tickling had been most intense.

"Potter, I am a man of few words when it comes to – certain matters and the charm was my effort at… Was a way to say that… To clarify that I am –"

"I'm sorry, too," Harry blurted, looking sheepish, but relieved. He donned his robes which he had shed as the session had grown more intense. "And, I wanted to thank you for coming to my room last night," he said.

"It was nothing, Potter." Snape muttered.

"It was to me. You could have sent Seamus away, sent him after Pomfrey, but you didn't, you came."

Snape cleared his throat. "Yes, well… You needn't be overly –"

"Plus, I really appreciated you looking after me this summer –" Harry trailed him to the door as they prepared to leave.

"I hadn't much choice in the matter –"

"– because I really learned a lot, and I hope I'm making you proud in class, and... I don't hate you, I don't. I-I should never have said that. It was stupid, really –" Harry took a breath "– stupid."

The room reverberated with silence as Snape stood, dumbfounded. When after long moment he hadn't moved or spoken, Harry moved toward him, concerned.

"Sir?" Harry waved his hand before Snape's eyes. "Professor?"

Blinking rapidly, Snape came back to himself, and said, "I'm all right."

"Where'd you go?"

"Nowhere, Potter. I'm fine."

"Okay. Well, I just… I wanted to apologize for acting like a world class tit. I was mad and hurt that you wouldn't tell me what Dum –" Harry waved his hand dismissively. "Anyway, I hope we're okay now." He searched Snape's eyes. "Are we… okay?"

Snape dipped his head sharply. "Yes, Potter, we're fine."

Harry grinned, his green eyes sparkling brilliantly.

Snape groaned and reached to open the door. "Stop that!"

Harry laughed, then his expression turned serious. "Sir?"

"Mmm?"

"Malfoy – I don't know why – but, he told me that his father and Bellatrix are planning something."

Snape nodded gravely. "Yes, he shared the same news with me as well."

Harry grimaced. "I don't like being talked about behind my back, especially by the likes of Malfoy. I don't need his fake concern. It's just… weird," Harry said, hijacking Ron's description of Draco's behavior.

Snape frowned. "He has had an equally trying summer." Harry shrugged carelessly. "You are aware that suffering is not unique to you?" Snape added.

Harry reddened. "I know that…"

"Then you should also know that horrifying experiences can forge a profound change in one's character, no matter how reprehensible you might find that person to be."

Harry watched the man step carefully out into the corridor. After judging the coast to be clear, Snape motioned for Harry to don his Cloak and leave. As he rounded the corner, losing sight of Snape, Harry replayed the man's words. He knew Snape was right, but that didn't mean he trusted Draco, or would ever – there were some things that just could not be forgiven. Besides, what 'profound change' could have wrought such a character shift in Malfoy that he was warning Harry about his father?

*WO

**Sixth Year Boy**'**s Dorm, Gryffindor Tower, Hogwarts, October 1996 (10) **

The sixth-year boy's dorm was quiet. Unable to sleep, Harry was having a bit of fun in the guise of practicing his magic.

"How long you gon' keep doin' that?" asked Ron, half-way asleep.

"'Til it stops wobbling," Harry said.

"Well, if it's not within the next five seconds," Dean said, matter-of-factly, "you're sleeping in the common room."

Harry sighed. "Fine." With a wave of his hand, he gently lowered Seamus's bed, the boy still snoring softly, undisturbed behind its curtains. Then Harry grabbed his pillow and blanket, secreting his Invisibility Cloak in the bundle.

"Where you goin'?" Neville asked, peeking out over his covers.

"To the common room," Harry lied.

"Again?"

"Yeah. Go back to sleep, Neville," Harry whispered, extinguishing the lights. He closed the door softly cutting off the sound of Ron's deepening snores.

Harry knocked on the great oak door to Snape's quarters, hoping the man had not been too long asleep. Seconds later the door fell open to reveal the sleepy-eyed man in a hastily donned black cotton dressing gown. Seeing Snape's long, pale feet sticking out from his pajama bottoms, Harry felt a momentary pang of guilt for rousing him from his bed, but he didn't fancy lying in his dorm wide awake all night.

"Potter... You all right?" Snape's voice was gravelly with sleep and concern as he ran a hand through his hair.

Shuffling his stockinged feet Harry said, "Yeah, I'm driving my dorm mates mad though. May I sleep here, please?"

Snape grunted and stood aside. "You know where the spare room is." As Harry started down the hallway Snape said, "Potter?" Harry stopped and turned around. "Why do you insist on sleeping here two nights out of the week? This has been going on since Miss Granger's party..."

Harry shrugged shyly. "I just sleep better down here… I don't mean to be a problem…"

Snape cleared his throat and moved his head in what could have been a negative way.

"You are _not_ a problem. Just… use your password from now on."

"Okay! Thanks, sir," Harry said, grinning.

Snape growled and rolled his eyes as he headed toward his own room. "Good night, Potter."

"G'night!"

*WO


	16. Chapter 16

Disclaimer: JK Rowling's characters.

**Gryffindor Tower, Hogwarts, October 1996 (17) **

Since reconciling with Snape, time conspired against Harry. His new schedule conflicted wildly, a jumbled mash of classes, Quidditch practices, and training, making him scarce around Gryffindor Tower. Ron and Hermione worried that he was doing too much, especially as Angelina was prone to surprise the team with impromptu practices for the upcoming match against Hufflepuff.

Harry missed his friends and did his best to make time for them on the weekends, but he couldn't complain, he enjoyed being with Snape. The man was all business when it came to training, but during downtimes Harry thrived on gleefully driving the man to distraction, much as he had while at Soth-ince. He also carried on sleeping in Snape's quarters at night, preferring to stay there instead of making the long trek up to the Tower after an exhausting training session. Ron worried because though he understood the importance of Harry's training, he couldn't help expressing his irritation when Harry chose to spend the night in the dungeons – especially as he wasn't the only one to notice.

Harry and Snape were never obvious in class or around the castle, but many students, Slytherins in particular, found their relative lack of enmity suspect. Whispers and pointed staring at Harry was nothing new, but it worried Ron and Hermione, particularly as Snape wasn't too shy in calling his students to task for any hint of malfeasance.

The entire castle witnessed him dress down a third-year Slytherin at dinner when the boy tried to hex Fang. With Hagrid still away, the dog split his time between Charlie in Hagrid's hut, and Harry in Gryffindor Tower. At meal times, to some students' delight, and others' chagrin, Fang often made the rounds to each table begging for and receiving scraps. This night, he padded around Slytherin. Euan Baddock, Malcolm's little brother, twisted his bowed lips in disgust when Fang sniffed sloppily at his back.

Many girls in Slytherin, and a fair few in the other Houses, tended to coddle Euan because his crown of chestnut curls and large, bright green eyes lent him a convincingly angelic air, but it was with a chilling deliberateness that the boy raised his wand at Fang. Following Euan's motions, the dog cocked his head and sniffed the air, anticipating the usual tasty morsel tossed his way, then sensing Euan's ill-intent the dog whined and slowly backed away.

Hearing that sound of distress, Snape looked up. As swift and silent as a cat, he was at Euan's side before the boy could take a breath let alone utter a curse or a hex. The man's dark expression was all too familiar to everyone in the Hall. The sight of them cringing in concert when he grabbed the boy by the scruff of his robes, hauling him to his feet, might have been funny were Snape not so genuinely furious.

"I sincerely hope you weren't about to hex that dog." Snape's acid tone reverberated throughout the deadly quiet Hall as though he had spelled his throat with _Sonorous_.

Air of innocence gone, Euan began to snarl and buck madly as if possessed. In an instant, Malcolm was up, grasping his brother about the waist and shoving against Snape's hand.

"You're barking!" Malcolm raged. "Get your hands off him!"

Snape shifted his glare onto Malcolm. "Sit down Mr. Baddock or you will be on the Hogwarts Express home before I count to three."

But instead of obeying, Malcolm – a fourth-year Slytherin, who with his hulking size could have easily passed for Hagrid's illegitimate son – did a strange thing: he smiled coldly and leaned in close to Snape, his lips barely moving as he whispered into Snape's ear. Within seconds, Snape snapped back as if ordered to stand at attention. Harry's stomach plummeted at the self-satisfied way Malcolm eyed the man, but Snape's expression was even more disturbing: looking a curious mix of sick and angry, his dark eyes flashed over to Harry, then away, as if afraid to linger.

Perched at the edge of his seat, Harry began to inch upward, his hands balled into fists. He froze when Ron pressed a hand to his hip, easing him back down. When Harry turned to look at him, Ron frowned. He gave a quick look around, shook his head and mouthed, "Don't!" Harry looked around. Nearly everyone sat spellbound, their eyes glued to the scene unfolding before them. Even the ghosts appeared captivated, hovering above the tables or between the aisles, anticipating the coming explosion.

The crisp rustle of Dumbledore's sky blue robes burst the thick bubble of tension. Moving to stand alongside Snape he put a hand on the Potions master's back. After a few whispered words from Dumbledore, Snape gulped visibly then let Euan go. The boy threw Snape a look of deepest hatred before flinging himself back into his seat. He then made a business of dusting off his robes where Snape had touched them. Malcolm remained standing, daring Snape to do or say something untoward. Dumbledore motioned sharply for the boy to sit down. After running a hand over his blond curls to smooth them off his forehead, Malcolm obliged, though his face was knotted up in a look similar to his brother's – and he never took his cold, blue eyes off Snape.

Dumbledore and Snape walked back to the High Table, Fang at Snape's heels, but just at the dais' edge, the dog broke away and trotted over to Harry where he sprawled on the floor at the boy's feet. Harry was the only one to have recognized the curious motion Snape made with his hand.

In the common room that night, Ron brought up the strange confrontation.

"Never seen Snape like that with Slytherins."

"Yeah," Harry said quietly, staring into the fire. "I'm worried for him."

"Him? What about you?"

Harry looked over at Ron, a surprised smile on his face. "I can take care of myself."

Ron frowned. "Look, I know you're pumped up with this wandless magic and all, but these blokes aren't messin' about! You saw Baddock! He looked ready to kill Snape! And that's his Head of House! Just imagine if he had a real idea of what's goin' on between you two…" Harry opened his mouth to defend himself, but Ron held up his hands. "I know you don't try to flaunt it, but it's hard to miss the fact that you and Snape never have cross words for one another in class anymore. From what I hear, all the talk amongst that lot is mutinous. And the way some of them look at you? It's scary... You gotta be careful, Harry. I'm serious!"

"Ron's right, Harry," said Hermione, curled up on the sofa, legs obscured by her Arithmancy text. "I'm sure Snape wouldn't be pleased to hear you being so blasé about your magic. The fact is a lot of people want to hurt you. A bit of vigilance isn't a bad thing."

"Okay, fine. I get it." Harry held up his hands in defeat.

"Dumbledore handled things well, though, don't you think?" Hermione said, in her relentless quest to get Harry to forgive the man.

"It was the least he could do," Harry said dismissively. "Especially as he's likely the reason Snape wouldn't talk to me all that time."

"You don't know that for a fact," Hermione said. "Why not ask Snape about it?"

Harry shook his head. "We're getting on pretty well now. I don't want to ruin it. I'll just have to figure another way to get at the truth – me and my Cloak, that is…" Noting the mischievous glint in Harry's eye, Ron laughed; Hermione frowned.

"You'll figure on getting caught, you mean," she said. "That or you're going to hear something you're not supposed to or something you don't _want_ to hear," she warned. "Just ask –"

Harry groaned. "Hermione, I _did _ask him. I asked him after he met with Dumbledore and he bit my head off. The night of your party, he still wasn't keen on me bringing it up. What makes you think he'll tell me now?"

"I just think sneaking around is a bad idea. He'll feel betrayed, Harry, that you don't trust him."

"Well then, he'll know how I felt after he met with Dumbledore," Harry said tightly. Hermione opened her mouth, most likely to defend the headmaster, but Harry interjected. "It's just that he's taking all the burden on himself. He told me to let him handle things with Dumbledore and I did. And afterward, he still didn't see any need to tell me what went on or why Dumbledore changed his mind about him training me, because he obviously didn't want him to. I just want to know why."

Undeterred, Hermione opened her mouth to retort.

"Leave him alone, Hermione..." Ron said tiredly. "You know he's going to do what he wants anyway."

"Obviously," Hermione said coldly. "But must you egg him on?"

"Egg him on? I haven't said one bloody word!" Ron stared at her, confounded.

"No, instead you sit over there, laughing when he talks about sneaking around and possibly ruining –"

"Hermione…" Harry began. "You can't get –"

"Never mind!" She huffed and then slammed her book closed. "I'm going to bed."

Speechless, Ron and Harry watched as she stomped out of the room. Harry threw his head back against the sofa, annoyed.

"Don't worry about it, mate," Ron said quietly. "She can't be right all the time."

Harry remained silent.

"So, what d'you think that was with Baddock and Snape?" Ron asked. "I saw him look over at you. He looked… weird."

"He was scared."

"Scared? Snape?"

"He had that same expression when we were attacked this summer."

Ron whistled softly. "Damn… Wonder what Baddock said to him?"

Harry eyed the ceiling, his brow crooked in thought. "Me too."

*WO

**Hogwarts' Grounds, October, 1996 (18)**

Saturday morning dawned sunny, and clear, but the air was crisp, a bracing reminder of winter's approach. On their way to the Quidditch pitch, Harry, Ron and Ginny spotted Charlie speaking to someone bent over smoothing their trouser leg. Ron called out and Charlie turned, grinning broadly as he waved them over. When Charlie's companion straightened up and turned to face them as well, Harry gawked.

"Perce! What are you doing here?" Ron demanded, his teeth clenched so tightly together, his lips barely moved.

"Well, hello to you, too, little brother," said Percy, perfectly at ease.

"You shouldn't be seen talking to us!" Ron insisted, looking about nervously.

"Percy, what's going on? Why _are_ you here?" asked Ginny.

"Ministry business," Percy said, his hazel eyes coming to land on Harry. "I convinced the Minister that despite my ragged family ties, trying to reconnect with Harry might go a long way toward rectifying that. I told him that speaking with you might result in my gleaning some much needed information on your summer activities as well as your state of mind. He was rather disappointed when he arrived here back in July only to discover you had gone…" Ron laughed and Harry smiled; Percy gave a tiny shrug. "I also suggested that I could do no worse after reminding him that his every attempt had been… unsuccessful."

"Unsuccessful my arse," Ron grumbled. Harry was surprised to see Percy allow a smile at his brother's salty language.

"Be that as it may," Percy said, "Harry, could you spare a moment or two? It would mean a great deal to me."

Percy still had a decidedly pompous air about his speech, but his attitude was markedly different from anything Harry had experienced in all the years he had known the man. Desperate to escape his family's humble legacy, Percy had ruthlessly pursued employment at the Ministry after leaving Hogwarts, and in less than a year he had been appointed as Junior Assistant to Cornelius Fudge. But that same drive had forged a bitter rift between him and his family; Ron had more or less disowned him. But looking at him now, Harry noted that the blind mania Percy had possessed while serving under Fudge was gone.

Harry wondered at the change. A year ago, Percy had written to Ron, coldly encouraging him to sever ties with Harry because he was 'unbalanced' and possibly 'violent.' Harry had been hurt and angry at the time, but Percy's present attitude led him to decide to at least give the man a chance to say whatever he had come to say; Harry nodded.

"Marvelous," Percy said. "Shall we?" He gestured for Harry to precede him. He then gave a quick nod to his brothers and sister as he and Harry started away.

"First off Harry, I owe you an apology. My behavior toward you last year was… How did Mother put it? Reprehensible, repulsive, repugnant, and just plain ridiculous..." Harry smiled; Percy answered it with a little uptick of his lips before saying soberly: "I am not proud of it; if I could change things, I certainly would."

"Per –"

Percy held up his hands and stopped walking.

"Please, this is not easy. Admittedly, it is nowhere near as difficult as the conversation I had with my family, because, well... I can be rather stubborn and myopic when it comes to admitting fault," he said, as if sharing some great secret.

"Must run in the family," Harry muttered, thinking of Ron.

Percy blinked. "Yes, well, I wanted you to know that you now have the support of the _entire_ Weasley family."

"Well, thanks, Percy, but, um, can I ask what happened to change your mind?"

Percy took a moment to look out at the grounds then said: "Working at the Ministry, one comes into contact with a wide array of people. In so doing, I became privy to some rather delicate information involving the Malfoys." Percy shook his head in a disturbed manner. "It is a remarkably corrupt family, Harry – more than I believed possible. To be honest, it showed me how tremendous a fool I had been regarding my own family."

Harry snorted. "I can't imagine them being any worse than they are." He paused, then said, "About a month ago, though, Draco bade me be careful 'cause his father and aunt are up to something."

Percy's expression became strangely alert and his eyes narrowed behind his wire rimmed spectacles. "Heed his advice, Harry – _do_ be exceedingly vigilant, even here at the castle. You have heard about Luna Lovegood's father?"

Luna had spent a lot of time at the Weasley's over the summer at Xenophilius Lovegood's request. Repeated threats from Voldemort supporters about negatively skewed articles printed in his newspaper, _The Quibbler, _deemed it necessary. Now, though, the threats had come to fruition; Xenophilius had not been heard from, nor his paper distributed since the middle of September. Luna's last contact with her father had been their emotional goodbye as she boarded the Hogwarts Express.

Harry frowned, recalling her wan appearance in the corridor that first day back. "Yeah, everybody knows…"

"Well, he has not been the only one to go missing... It is happening all over."

Harry knew that, too. Gossip spread like knotgrass in the castle. "Not that I don't appreciate your concern, Percy, but I'm safe here at Hogwarts," he said.

"Yes," Percy nodded knowingly. "I understand Professor Snape has taken you under his wing." Harry shrugged shyly. "He is a formidable wizard and I know from experience that he is a forthright man, but just know that you mean a lot to my family, as well. I should not take kindly to any of their hearts being broken due to some foolish action on your part."

"Thanks, Percy." Harry muttered, noting that the ruthlessness was still there, simply redirected.

*WO

**Snape's Quarters, Hogwarts, October 1996**

After dinner, Harry begged off from hanging out in Gryffindor Tower, eager to share with Snape details of the conversation he'd had with Percy.

"_Harry Potter._" Snape's door glided open and Harry stepped inside. Sliding his Invisibility Cloak off, he noted that the rooms were quiet. Snape had told him that he might not be there were Harry to visit, but to be certain, Harry called out, "Professor?"

When silence was his only response, Harry entered the sitting room where he dumped his things onto the floor then kicked off his shoes. Just as he was getting settled on the sofa, Dumbledore's head appeared in the fire. Harry startled and jumped to his feet.

"Headmaster!"

Dumbledore's eyes widened with surprise. "_Harry?_ Ah... Is Severus near?"

"No."

"I see. Well, might I come through and have a word with you then?"

Harry shrugged. "Sure," he said. It was about time they cleared the air.

"Splendid!" Dumbledore exclaimed. After he stepped through the flames, Harry motioned to the chair nearest the fireplace.

"Would you like some tea?" he asked. The old wizard smiled brightly as he arranged his robes to settle in the chair.

"How very kind of you, Harry. That would be lovely."

Harry nodded. "S'cuse me."

Harry imagined he should feel nervous or even a trifle guilty for having ignored Dumbledore since term began. Instead, soothed by his surroundings, a cool calm ruled him. If Soth-ince was like home to him, Snape's quarters had become his home away from home.

Within minutes, he was back in the sitting room, setting the tea tray on the coffee table. He poured steaming Earl Grey into a cup and handed it off to Dumbledore.

"Thank you, Harry."

Harry nodded then resumed his spot on the sofa. Dumbledore sipped politely before balancing his cup and saucer on his knee.

"I have wanted to speak with you for some time now," he said.

Harry clasped his hands between his knees. "Yes, sir, I know."

"You refused because you feel that I have been unfair to Professor Snape."

Harry shrugged. "He won't tell me what went on in your office that day, and I don't want to know – well, that's not true – but whatever it was, I feel like you did it to turn him against me or me against him... The thing I can't figure out is why. Especially after all he's done for you, for the Order."

"You care for him a great deal."

"He's a good man."

Dumbledore regarded Harry kindly. "Yes, Harry, he is, but it is not my place to tell you what was discussed in my office that day."

Harry frowned. "You mean you don't mind me knowing what you two talked about?"

"Not at all."

"Then why not just tell me?"

"Truly, in light of your attachment to him, it is a matter better settled between you and Professor Snape."

"Fine, but… if it was to do with him training me, you should have known that I would never have trained with anyone else."

"That fact is quite clear to me now, yes, but as I told Professor Snape, your training was, _is_ of the utmost importance."

"So I've heard," Harry said, irritated.

So, training wasn't the issue. He had been fairly certain of it before, but to have it straight from one of the horses' mouths, he scratched that off his mental list. Now he was back to square one, wondering what Dumbledore had said to make Snape shun him.

"Your bond with him is why I relented on the matter," Dumbledore said, cutting through Harry's thoughts. "I simply had not realized how close you two had become until you returned."

"Well… I trust him."

"Clearly, but after meeting with him, I realized that I neglected a thing I had told him back in June before you two left." Harry regarded Dumbledore expectantly as the old wizard paused to take a sip of tea. "I told him how admirably unique you are in regards to overcoming ill-feelings."

Harry sighed. Did the man have nothing of value to say that would shine a light on Snape's behavior after that meeting?

"I also told him," Dumbledore said, "that it was not my intention to cause either of you undue heartache."

Harry perked up. "But you did! All those weeks he wouldn't talk to me, I was miserable… Hermione thinks I'm being too hard on you, that I shouldn't be upset with you because you have reasons for doing what you did, but this is my life you're toying with."

Dumbledore nodded. "Well said, Harry, but Miss Granger is quite right. Know that I do not take my influence over you or any of my students lightly. Having said that, I do realize the effort it will take to gain your trust back."

Harry shifted, a bit unbalanced by the old wizard's mea culpa. "Oh, well... It's just, I don't like being treated like a chess piece. The professor either."

"Of course, Harry." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled as he took another sip of tea. "My brother, he is quite taken with you."

Harry blushed and ducked his head, prompting Dumbledore to chuckle softly. The sound of the door closing startled them.

"Potter?" Snape called.

"Sitting room!" Harry called back. Snape rounded the corner then stopped cold.

"Headmaster…"

"Ah, Severus."

"What's – Is there anything wrong?" Snape's eyes darted anxiously from Harry's face to Dumbledore's as if to get a quick tally of their moods.

"Harry prepared a lovely cup of tea for me," Dumbledore said. "We were just catching up."

Despite Dumbledore's guileless tone, Snape searched Harry's face intently. Seeing nothing other than the tiny frown of concern in the boy's otherwise open expression, Snape exhaled.

"Potter, I'd like a word with the headmaster, alone."

"Okay…" Harry said, hesitating slightly; he found Snape's tense behavior worrying. "I'll, uh, just be in the other room." He grabbed his book bag and shoes.

"No!" Snape said. "Go to your dorm."

Harry frowned at the man's sharp tone. "But –"

"Potter… I'll see you tomorrow."

Snape's tone was commanding, his anxiety, palpable. Dumbledore, who was contemplating Snape, appeared calm, if a bit disappointed.

"All right," Harry said. He needed to make things up with Hermione, anyway. She was still peeved about their discussion last night. He quickly knuckled on his shoes and shouldered his robe and book bag. "Headmaster." He nodded at Dumbledore who nodded back.

"Sleep well, Harry."

"G'night, Professor," Harry said as he passed Snape.

"Potter," Snape said, following him to the door. Harry threw his Cloak over his head and stepped out into the corridor. He stood quietly as Snape closed the door in his face.

*WO

**Quidditch Pitch, Hogwarts, October 1996 (26)**

Indian summer made a short, but respectable reappearance for much of the last week of October. Many hoped that the pleasant weather would linger for the first Quidditch match of the season, but few were surprised when on the day of the match the weather turned, making layers of clothing and heating charms the rule. Accustomed to playing in fair weather and foul, Gryffindor's veterans suffered silently in their changing room, however, a certain newcomer was disposed to a bit of complaining within earshot of the team captain, Angelina Johnson.

"Robins, cut the whinging!" Angelina growled at the huddled, quivering mass that was Demelza Robins.

"Sorry, Angelina, but it's b-bloody freezing! Why c-can't we at least get properly warm before g-going out there in that beastliness?"

As Angelina loudly schooled Demelza on the sacrifices of being on a winning team, Harry, Dean and Ron kept to the other side of the room – Harry and Dean doing their best to cool Ron's nerves and fire his confidence. Ron doubted his 'Weasley is Our King' legend despite winning the Quidditch Cup last May.

"You can do this, mate." Harry assured him, trying not to think of their most recent practices where Ron seemed to become more and more unreliable. "You've been spot on in a lot of practices and Angelina's had some… er, positive things to say."

"I don't find '_My Gramma's mother can block better than that_' rather inspiring stuff, Harry," Ron said, with an angry sigh. "You may not be the fastest broom in the shed, but surely you can recognize that as an insult."

Dean coughed to cover a chortle. Harry shrugged, unable to hide a smile as Ron leaned over to secure his knee pads with a bit more force than necessary. Angelina never held back when expressing her disapproval and Harry knew nothing but winning would make Ron feel better, so he overlooked his friend's sulky attitude.

"Make ready Gryffindors!" Madam Hooch shouted from the entrance.

"All right, guys," said Angelina. Her normally friendly cocoa colored eyes blazed with a frightening mix of anticipation and nerves as they connected with every one of her teammates. "Let's show Hufflepuff who's boss!"

Out on the pitch, conditions were bleak. The sky was leaden with either snow or rain, and the icy wind cut viciously through every crack and crevice of the team's gear. As uncomfortable as it was on the ground, Harry knew it would be ten times worse once they were in the air. Ordered to mount their brooms and kick-off, both teams' players squealed and groaned as the wind turned even more savage the higher they flew.

While awaiting the release of the Snitch, Harry heard his name, carried on the wind. Hovering just above the Gryffindor stands, he looked down to find Hermione waving wildly at him, easily recognizable by her bright red mittens, a griffin embellishment on the palms. Even at this distance, he could see her cheeks, reddened by the harsh gale. Luna, who looked more settled than she had done since the start of term, was sitting next to Hermione, that ridiculous roaring Gryffindor lion hat firmly ensconced on her blonde head.

Seconds before Madam Hooch released the balls and the Snitch, Harry risked a quick wave; he grinned when Hermione and Luna waved back.

"Harry!" Angelina screeched. "Eyes _up_!"

Looking up, Harry caught sight of the Bludger flying right at him. He muttered an oath then smartly zagged out of the way of the flying ball of iron so that it grazed his elbow pad instead of plowing into his stomach. He then urged his broom up higher, scoping the area for any sign of the Snitch.

Despite the frigid conditions, Hufflepuff scored early and regularly. Harry quickly grew weary of Lee shouting into the megaphone, "Hufflepuff scores, again!" to the accompaniment of disappointed "Awww's!" from the Gryffindors.

Forty-five minutes into the match, Angelina called a timeout.

"Ron, what's the matter with you! You do see the Quaffle coming at you don't you! You do know that every time it gets past you, Hufflepuff scores ten points, right!"

With each question, Angelina's voice grew shriller until she sounded like she was speaking Mermish.

"Angelina, girl, calm your –" Dean began.

"First of all Dean, I'm your captain, not your girl! Second, I don't want to hear any 'calm yourself' crap from you right now! This is _Hufflepuff_ we're playing! _We_ should be the ones a hundred-seventy points up!" Angelina thrust a gloved finger into Ron's chest. "Now I don't know what you're playing at allowing all those goals, but you'd better do something about it… or I'll have to reconsider McLaggen as Keeper." Stunned, Ron opened his mouth in protest, but Angelina cut him off. "I don't want to, but I will."

"Ten seconds, Gryffindor!" Madam Hooch called.

"C'mon!" shouted Angelina. "Into the air, now!"

She spun to kick-off, her braids lashing the air carelessly behind her. Much of the team followed her lead, throwing frustrated scowls at Ron before taking to the air. Disheartened, Ron went to mount his broom, but Harry stopped him. For a split second Ron tensed at his touch.

"Rough, huh?" Harry said, jerking his thumb in Angelina's direction.

"Yeah, but she's right…" Ron muttered, his shoulders slumping. "Can't even blame it on Slytherin."

Harry followed Ron's annoyed glance. He was glad they weren't playing Slytherin, certain that silver and green banners would now be waving in time to a rousing chorus of 'Weasley Is Our King.' As it was, their stands were strangely only half-full.

"Well…" Harry said, "then just imagine their stands are full... Imagine they're singin' that stupid song, trying to wind you up." Harry began to hum the dreaded melody tunelessly, horribly.

Ron grimaced and clapped a hand over Harry's mouth. "Quit it! Argh! You have the worst singing voice!"

Harry laughed and shook him off. "You wound me…" he said, clutching dramatically at his chest. He then mounted his broom and took to the air.

Grinning, Ron followed then settled before the Gryffindor rings, a determined glint in his blue eyes. Satisfied Ron now had his head in the match Harry performed a few swift loops, hoping to spot the Snitch. He loved the thrill of playing and especially winning and he knew Angelina would kill him if he nabbed the Snitch now, but, like everyone else he was frozen to the bone and ready to get warm.

Flying close to Slytherin's stands he spotted Snape. The man had promised to come, so it was no surprise to see him, but Harry couldn't help his sudden jolt of nerves. He knew it was ridiculous; Snape had seen him fly before, but things were different now. As Harry watched, the wind whipped Snape's hair across his face. When the man raised his hand to push the wily strands aside, he spotted Harry. He held his hand up a beat longer than necessary before settling it back into his lap. Harry grinned, but it dissolved into a scowl when Draco leaned over to say something, taking Snape's attention. A sudden burst of screams from Hufflepuff's stands forced Harry to drag his focus back to the match.

"Hufflepuff scores again and now leads by 180, but Gryffindor is _finally_ showing some life!" Lee announced. "Under the fantastic guidance of team captain, Angelina Johnson – could be Jordan if she weren't dating one of my best – Oh, Merlin! Gryffindor scores!" Lee suddenly shouted. "That's Gryffindor, now down by 170 points!"

Harry hovered near the center of the pitch, scanning the stands, the crowd, and both team's goals. When Ginny pelted the Quaffle through a ring, another roar rose from Gryffindor's fans.

"Yeah! That's the ticket! W-what's this? What's _this_?" Lee screeched. "Now Katie Bell has the Quaffle… She's gaining on – Ah, no! McCoy's grabbed her tail! That looks totally illegal to me! Where's the ref – Oh, OH! OHHHHHH! Gryffindor! Gryffindor scores again! Incroyable! For you uneducated boors out there, that's Italian for 'incredible'– Huh? French? Eh, whatever… just look at these guys _go_!"

Minutes passed. Gryffindor continued to decimate Hufflepuff's lead with Katie and Ginny pegging hoop after hoop while Ron killed Hufflepuff's every attempt to score, but there still was no sign of the Snitch. Then the winds died and a canned hush settled over the crowd. In that odd moment, Harry heard a soft whirring coming from his left. He turned. Positioned a mere arm's length away, the Snitch gleamed, a bright, golden spark against the sky's dull gray canvas. Its fluttering wings beat a lively, taunting rhythm. Then it dipped, preparing to fly away.

Suddenly oblivious to the numb, raw state of his hands, Harry made an awkward grab for it, but the Snitch, in an oddly human fashion, looked to smile at him before darting off. Harry took off after it, the wind like needle pricks on his exposed skin as he bore down on his Firebolt, accelerating to keep pace.

Then unexpectedly, the Snitch 'stumbled', buffeted by a powerful crosswind. Bigger and better able to bear the brunt of the fierce gust, Harry pressed on, gaining on the Snitch, so close now he leaned forward, positioning himself to grab it. The screams from Gryffindor began to filter through the wind even as it pounded against his ears. Then, moving in what felt like slow-motion, he shot out his hand and snagged the tiny sphere, clasping it tightly. Shouting at the top of his lungs, Harry pumped his fist above his head. Like a sonic boom, Gryffindors' roaring (helped along by Luna's hat) swelled until it exploded in Harry's ears. It took only seconds for his teammates to collide into him on both sides.

Katie Bell seized him from behind, gluing her chest to his back; Angelina had him in a head-lock planting loud, smacking kisses on his head while screaming herself hoarse; a shivering Demelza floated out to the side, either grimacing or smiling – it was difficult to tell.

"Oy!" Ron yelled, as he tried to squeeze in close to Harry. "Get out of it! Let me in there so I can congratulate my best mate!"

Harry laughed at Ron and tried to disentangle himself from Angelina and Katie who didn't seem to want to let him go. Still, Ron managed to grip Harry in a clumsy bear hug and Harry heartily returned the embrace as best he could.

"Let's go down and attend to our clamoring public, shall we?" said Angelina, finally setting Harry free.

"Y-y-yes! L-l-let's d-do that!" Demelza said, her teeth chattering loudly.

Everyone laughed and Harry and Ron parted to join them. On the ground, students from all the Houses, save Slytherin, flooded the pitch as the teams landed. Both were quickly swallowed up by their Housemates. Spotting Hermione, Harry grinned as she ran at him, enveloping him in a hug.

"Well done, Harry! You were brilliant!"

"Thanks, Hermione," he said, gripping her tightly.

"Congratulations on a well played match, Harry," said Luna, peeking at the duo through the bit of lion's mane hanging in her face.

"Thanks Luna," Harry said.

"You guys were great, Harry!" Neville grabbed Harry's fist, which was still grasping the Snitch, to shake it. Then, eager to avoid being struck by a flying elbow, Neville ducked out of range when Seamus squeezed up behind him to reach around and pound Harry on the back.

"Bloody brilliant flying, Harry! 'Cept you could'a been a bit more focused on the doin's in the air instead of in the stands, yeah?" Seamus glanced significantly at Harry and Hermione's joined hands; she was now chatting animatedly with Hannah Abbott and Ernie MacMillan. Harry blushed, and suddenly the cold was not so uncomfortable.

"Hey Ginny, great job," said Dean. Harry turned to look over his right shoulder. Ginny's eyes were glued to his and Hermione's hands. As Hannah and Ernie waved their goodbye's, Hermione moved back to stand beside him.

"Thanks, Dean," Ginny said. Then as if coming to a hasty decision, she kissed him loudly on the mouth. Everyone's eyes widened at the display, the stares nearly as audible as the gasps.

"Oy! Ginny! What the bloody hell? You can't –" Ron roared, but his tirade ended when Lavender flipped a golden lock of hair over her shoulder and smiled at him.

"You were magnificent, Ron!" She squeaked. Hermione rolled her eyes and looked away from the spectacle. Movement at the pitch's entrance caught her eye.

"Harry…" she said, then pointed a mittened hand.

Harry turned. Snape. He was about the leave the pitch. The Slytherins had cleared out quickly after Harry caught the Snitch, but Snape had remained. The dreary conditions and his position atop the hill lent the man a spectre-like air as his robes and hair whipped about him. But even from this distance, Harry could see the proud warmth in those black eyes.

Then an idea struck him. Harry grinned and closed his eyes. Opening them, he saw a shocked-looking Snape quickly clench his gloved hand into a fist, as if trying to prevent something escaping. The man took an imperceptible peek inside and Harry thought he saw the thin lips move upward into something like a smile before flattening again into their accustomed thin line.

Snape looked up and lowered his chin at Harry in a sharp nod before striding away. Like smoke, Draco materialized out of the crowd to join him. Recalling the defeated slump of Draco's shoulders that day in the corridor, Harry noted that like Luna, the boy now looked a sight better than he had since the start of term. Deeply curious, but not wanting to give the sight of them together too much credence, Harry watched their backs until they crested the hill and descended out of sight.

*WO

**Sixth-Year Boys Dorm, Gryffindor Tower, Hogwarts, October 1996 (31)**

From his bed, Ron regarded Harry pensively. "Does Luna look good to you?"

The book Harry was levitating just missed crashing into his head as he exclaimed, "What?"

Ron flushed bright red. "Not like that! Least… I hope you're not looking at her like that…"

"'Course not!"

"Oh, well, I was just thinkin' that she looks happier, you know, even with the stuff that's goin' on with her dad."

"That's good, right? It must be hard not knowing where he is or if he's alive."

"No!" Ron sputtered. "I mean, I'm glad she's feeling okay, it's just… she's been hangin' around this guy a lot lately."

Harry smiled to himself. "Darvel Macallan," he said.

"Yeah, um, you know about him?"

Harry raised his head to get a better look at Ron. "I know he's in Ravenclaw; he's a seventh-year, brilliant in Potions. Why?"

"No reason… I just, you know, don't want him winding her up or anything. Her dad's missing."

"The entire school knows that, Ron," Harry said, confident that Ron's curiosity about Darvel Macallan was hardly random.

"Yeah… but, um, Ginny says Luna told her that he's planned some sort of picnic on top of the Astronomy Tower so that he and Luna can sit up all night tonight to keep watch for the Great Pumpkin." Harry raised his eyebrows. "Some Muggle legend or something." Ron clarified, looking as if he found the whole idea ludicrous.

"She says you were nice to her at the Burrow."

Ron looked indignant. "How else was I s'posed to be? I mean, yeah, she's right weird sometimes, but she's all right once you get to know her! She's in Ravenclaw, for Merlin's sake! You have to be a bit barmy being that smart! But," Ron said, having calmed a bit, "she doesn't lord it over you, you know? I don't feel stupid around her."

"I know, Ron. You don't have to convince me," Harry said with a knowing smile. "Hermione says that she talks about you a lot."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Ron's mouth bled into a self-satisfied smile as he lay back on his bed. After a moment he said, "Speakin' of her, what's goin' on with you two?"

Harry felt his head moving back and forth before he could even stop it. "Nothing, really… I don't think."

"Do you want something to be goin' on?"

Harry couldn't deny it. "Yeah, but she's worried about the friendship."

"Didn't seem too worried about it after the match the other day when she was holding your hand." Ron pointed out.

"It was just the match, and stuff." Harry mumbled.

"Even _I _can tell it's more than that, mate. You best talk to her about it… before someone else does."

"Who?" Harry demanded.

"Lot's of blokes trying to chat her up lately. It's like they know she's not interested, but want to have a go anyway."

"Well, bully for them 'cause I don't know how bring it up," Harry said with an angry shrug.

"It's Hermione, Harry. Just do it."

Harry grunted in response. Easier said than done.

*WO


	17. Chapter 17

Disclaimer: JK Rowling's characters.

**Dungeons, Hogwarts, November 1996 (08)**

Draco Malfoy gave Harry Potter the willies. Since sharing his cryptic warning over a month ago the boy displayed an overt and disquieting fascination with Harry and Snape. If Harry hung back in Potions hoping to catch a quick word with the man Draco sometimes lingered as well, drawing out packing his book bag, sorting potions vials, or something else equally useless. And if Snape addressed Harry in the corridor Draco always seemed to be lurking nearby.

Likewise, Harry found himself just as enthralled when he spotted the two Slytherins together. It ate at him that they could indulge in each other's company out in the open while his interactions with the man were restricted to the Room of Requirement or Snape's quarters, like a dirty secret. But he relished the fact that his relationship with Snape was special, that it went beyond the mere Head of House and student. Or so he thought.

Snape scheduled a meeting to mentor Luna's friend, Darvel Macallan on Saturday. He assured Harry that the meeting would be over by 2:30 p.m. so that they could train a bit before dinner. At 2:15 p.m., Harry rounded the corner prepared to wait those last few minutes outside Snape's classroom, but as he drew closer he grew alarmed to hear someone not just crying, but wailing so loudly it could be heard through the thick oak door. He crept close to press his ear to it. He made out Snape's distinctive voice, but its silken tone sounded odd.

Harry gripped the doorknob to push the door open a crack. What he saw took his breath.

Draco Malfoy was enveloped in Snape's arms, sobbing impossibly, his pale hands wound into Snape's robes in desperate clutches. He tried speaking between sobs, but it all came out muffled as his face was pressed against Snape's chest. Not that Harry cared what had upset the boy – no, it was Snape his eyes were drawn to: Despite the man's furious expression, he stroked the back of Draco's head in a feathery, gentle manner, obviously familiar with the touch necessary to soothe the boy.

Bile rose to burn Harry's throat; the air around him grew charged and prickly. He quickly eased the door shut – tempted though he was to blow it off its hinges. _2:15. _Snape had cut short his meeting with the Ravenclaw to deal with Malfoy.

_Damn crybaby!_ _Why didn't he take his frustration out on some hapless first-year like he normally would? Why was he blubbering all over Snape? And _why _was Snape comforting him like that?_

"There you are!" Hermione's voice rang out, making Harry start. "Have you already – Harry? Are you all right?" She reached to touch his cheek, but he recoiled.

"M' sorry, Hermione," he muttered, glimpsing her hurt expression. "It's not you. It's... I just need to get out of here."

"But, what's going on? Did you and the professor have another row? If you did, you need to fix this right now!" She started toward Snape's classroom, but Harry grabbed her arm.

"No, Hermione, just leave it! Please!"

Hermione winced when he applied pressure, trying to keep her from advancing further. She looked down at his hand. Realizing what he'd done, Harry muttered, "Sorry", then turned and shot off up the corridor. Perplexed, and rubbing her arm, Hermione stayed put, looking back and forth between Harry's retreating back and Snape's closed door.

*WO

At dinner, Harry silently fashioned Hagrid's hut out of his asparagus and roast beef. Though desperate to escape to his four-poster, he instead focused on his food because a hasty departure would mean more dreaded questions and concern. Ron had already tried to trick him into talking several times, wanting to get at the reason for his melancholy.

Poking at bits of bread with the butt of his knife, he resisted the powerful urge to look up at the High Table. Equally tempted to look over at the Slytherin table, he yielded, knowing that if he made eye contact with Draco he'd likely be expelled. The mere thought of the boy made his jaw tighten, his blood boil.

"Harry?" Ron sounded alarmed. "Uh, c'mon mate, let's… let's get outta here. Here… C'mon... _Let. It. Go_…"

Harry winced. At Ron's touch, he looked down. Blood dripped steadily onto the table; the strangle-tight grip he had on the business end of his knife had driven its toothy ridges into his flesh. He opened his hand to let the knife drop to the table. He then took the napkin Ron held out to him to wrap around his palm. Hermione watched and gnawed on her bottom lip, her brown eyes, worried.

As they made their way down the aisle, Seamus, Dean, Ginny, and Neville all moved to get up. Ron shook his head. Harry could feel their eyes on him, could feel their concern. Exiting the Hall, he was certain he could feel Snape's eyes on him, too.

*WO

Harry believed in honesty, even believed himself an unusually honest sort, yet an honest reckoning of his feelings after seeing Malfoy in Snape's arms escaped him.

Months ago, Hermione had told him that his feelings for Snape were obvious, that they were on par to how he had felt for Sirius. Harry had scoffed, chalking her words up to her flair for the dramatic, and her desire for him and Snape to make up. But after some thought, he began to find her words troublesome because there was a difference between the two men – an awkward, telling difference: Harry had loved Sirius, and Sirius had loved him; Snape had hated Harry on sight and by virtue of experiences that had nothing to do with Harry, which hardly endeared him to the boy, so Harry hated him right back.

It took little to recall that first Potions class and being called out in front of all his new classmates. Every humiliation that followed was just as easily recalled, so that he could be devastated this way by the man who had gleefully made his life hell over the past five years gave Harry pause. Was it possible to get over being systematically wronged for five years in the space of five months? Had he _forgiven_ Snape?

Harry chewed on that question long and hard figuring that he must have – he and Snape would have never survived the summer otherwise. But it irked him, because Forgiveness seemed to have sorted itself out without any say-so from him. That he had changed, and that his view of Snape had changed was not that surprising, but Time had so seamlessly nurtured the change that Harry couldn't understand why seeing Snape comforting Malfoy made his heart seize up.

Before June, Harry's view of Snape had been fixed: the man was heartless, a sadist who rejoiced in pitting himself against a boy he believed supremely undeserving of the wizarding world's favor. But, Snape had changed, too. No longer Harry's tormentor, the man had metamorphosed, caterpillar-like, forging himself into a new creature: Harry's unlikely, unyielding source of strength. Without Snape Harry knew he could never have properly dealt with the deaths of Cedric, the Dursleys, and Sirius. And without Snape Harry didn't know if he could face what lay ahead. That frightened him.

Harry believed in honesty, and seeing Malfoy in Snape's arms honestly bothered him – so much that it wrought intense concern amongst his friends and Snape.

*WO

**Potions Classroom, Dungeons, Hogwarts November 1996 (14)**

"Mr. Potter? Please remain so that I may speak with you."

"What's the greasy git want now?" Ron grumbled.

Harry bristled at his tone. "Dunno," he said. "I'll catch up with you two in a bit."

He shouldered his book bag and trudged up to the man's desk, eyes downcast. Snape closed the door with a wave of his hand once Ron and Hermione had gone.

"If not for class, training, and meals, I'd never see you," he said, a long finger resting against his chin.

Harry shrugged.

"Everything is well?"

Another shrug, then, "Yes."

Snape squinted, unconvinced and irritated by Harry's absurd attention to the jar of dried Billywig stingers sitting near the edge of his desk.

"You do realize that should any difficulty arise, I'm willing to listen?"

"…Yes." From the moment Snape had said 'Mr. Potter', that soothing baritone had made Harry want to confess anything, like a penitent to a clergyman, but he couldn't.

Snape sighed. "Very well… You're free to go." He rose and began to haphazardly stuff the parchments littering his desk into his satchel instead of inserting them methodically as he was wont to do.

Harry watched him, mulling over the man's words. Was Snape really so concerned that he hadn't spent a night in the dungeons in days?

"Sir?"

"Potter." Snape spoke curtly, as if expecting the worst.

"I… I, uh..."

Snape looked up. Meeting Harry's eyes, his jaw lost some of its stiffness. "Come to my quarter's following dinner," he said. "We'll discuss some... modifications to your training."

Harry smiled. "Yes, sir."

*WO

**Room of Requirement, Hogwarts, November 1996 (20)**

Snape was more than an hour late for their session. For twenty minutes, Harry paced about the Room of Requirement casting random spells at whatever object struck his fancy. With a lazy sweep of his index finger he directed a length of rope to loop round and round fashioning it into a small Chinese Fireball which he then charmed to soar about the room. He succeeded in making it breathe fire until, naturally, it disintegrated midair. Bored, he lay down on the sofa, a replica of the one in Snape's quarters. He dozed a while, until the door banged open, making him bolt upright.

"Wha'?"

"Potter?"

"Here… I'm here." Harry rubbed his eyes as Snape swept into the room.

"My apologies. I had to meet with the headmaster concerning one of my students."

"S'everything okay?"

"It remains to be seen." Snape shucked off his outer robe and tossed it over the back of a chair where he sat down. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

"Should we do this another time?"

"No… Well, perhaps we should…"

Harry took in Snape's tired posture. "Sir… what happened?"

Snape opened his eyes, regarding Harry quietly for a moment. When the boy crooked an eyebrow, Snape said, "Draco."

"Oh…" Harry said, fighting his lips' urge to curl in distate. "Does it – does it have anything to do with why he was crying in Potions?"

Snape raised his chin. "What do you know of that?"

Harry shrugged guiltily. "I was outside, waiting for you. I thought you were still meeting with that seventh-year, Macallan."

"Ah... Is that why you were upset with me?"

Harry flushed. "I just... I didn't know why Malfoy had come to you, crying."

"I'm his head of House, Potter."

"I know. I just felt... I don't know."

Snape held Harry's gaze for a moment then said. "He may require a great deal more of my attention in the coming weeks… All right?"

Harry swallowed, annoyed at the burst of anxiety this comment raised. "All right," he managed. Then his stomach growled.

Snape hitched an eyebrow and his top lip jumped. "Hungry?"

"Yeah," Harry replied, with a small smile of his own.

*WO

After dinner, Harry lay on Snape's sofa, staring at his stockinged feet as he wriggled his toes. His thoughts spun noisily as he chewed his inner cheek. Snape, sitting in the wing chair near the fire, regarded Harry silently for several moments before speaking.

"Potter?" Harry's eyes swung over to Snape's face. "Say what is on your mind."

Harry no longer found it odd that Snape could divine his moods; the man oftentimes knew something was wrong before he did. Still, that didn't mean he wouldn't make the man work for his confidence.

"It's nothin', really," he said, stifling the urge to grin when Snape rolled his eyes.

"Yes, that would explain the woefully distressing look on your face. Speak." Snape put aside the seventh-year essays he was marking.

Harry sat up, clasped his hands between his knees. "Okay, well… It probably sounds stupid, but Hallowe'en felt different to me this year," he said.

"Oh," Snape said stiffly.

"When I was little, it was just a day for my uncle to take Dudley round the neighborhood so that he could collect near enough sweets to open his own sweetshop, but when I turned eleven, Hagrid told me how my parents died, and, well I'd never really associated the day with their deaths 'til a few weeks ago." When Snape sighed softly, Harry glanced over to find the man looking pale and distressed. "It's nothing morbid or anything," he said quickly. "It's just, for some reason… family's been on my mind a lot lately."

Snape said nothing, so Harry continued.

"Last year," he said, "after Dudley and I were attacked by those Dementors, Aunt Petunia got a Howler, saying 'remember my last', and instead of chucking me out like Uncle Vernon wanted, she let me stay. At the time, I didn't know what the message meant, but now I know it was from Dumbledore."

Harry ran a hand through his hair making it stick out at even crazier angles; Snape lowered his eyes at the sight.

"He's had a say in most everything to do with me, even me staying with the Dursleys. And though you won't tell me what he said to you that day in his office –"

"Potter –"

Harry held up his hands. "I'm not asking you to tell me what went on. I get that it's your business. Maybe you'll tell me someday, but I _know_ it was something to do with how close we are. And, well, what I'm getting at is, he can still do whatever he wants where I'm concerned and there's not a thing I can do about it. I – Well, Muggle kids can be emancipated from their parents. 'Course, he's not my parent, but I think I'd feel loads better if I had something legal that said he couldn't interfere in my life."

Snape sat staring at Harry, frozen; Harry suspected a bronze statue couldn't have been more rigid.

"Sir?" he said, concerned.

"That's a rather impressive step to take." Snape managed.

"I know, but can I do it? Is there anything like that in wizarding law?"

Snape shifted a bit in his seat. "I don't know. I imagine I could find out for you... You know the headmaster's of the impression that you and he are getting on better."

"Oh, yeah, we're okay, now, mostly 'cause he's left me alone, but..."

"You fear he'll continue to interfere?"

"Well, not really. I mean, I told him how I felt about… you know, you and training, so I think he knows not to stick his nose in."

"Yet, you would feel better having it in writing?"

Harry nodded and shrugged, suddenly ambivalent about his grand idea of emancipation. Snape had said he would look into it, but he was grilling Harry as if he wanted to discourage him.

"Well…" Snape said, looking suddenly out of sorts himself, "before looking into that, perhaps you'd, ah, consider another option to prevent Dumbledore meddling."

"Like what?"

"Well, it, um, is something that will require a great deal of contemplation... on both our parts."

When Snape stopped speaking, Harry nodded his head, encouraging him to continue.

"…I don't bring this up to leave you with the impression that this is simply about besting the headmaster. I… it is for… deeply personal reasons as well and as I said, it is a lot to consider –"

"Yeah, okay, you're making me nervous!"

"How would you feel about… about…"

Impatient, and on edge because of Snape's odd incoherence, Harry unwittingly slipped into the man's mind. He cried out and grabbed his head, collapsing forward over his knees as vivid images flashed across his vision – a kaleidoscopic slide-show of his life over the past few months.

He saw the cratered, uneven valley of Soth-ince, the rectangular red door of the cottage, and then himself collapsing and Snape sweeping him into his arms; he saw himself lying on the oversized sofa in the cottage's sitting room, his head in Snape's lap as the man lightly caressed his face and whispered 'Hush' and 'Go to sleep, Harry'; he saw a tall, blond teen, laughing with Hermione amidst a riot of colors, sounds, smells, and warmth; in Fred and George's tiny office he saw the top of that same shaggy, blond head being cradled against a broad, brown-shirted chest; in Dumbledore's office he saw himself pleading and then angry; he saw himself in his four-poster, having his robe, tie, shoes and glasses removed before being covered and petted. And before Snape severed the connection, Harry saw himself boneless in the man's arms beneath the spray of the hospital ward's showers as he was bathed, then dried, dressed, and put to bed.

As the image of him lying curled up around his and Snape's linked hands faded, Harry hung his head, thunderstruck, not just by the images, but also by the brilliant spectrum of Snape's emotions as the scenes flowed fluidly one into the next. Anger and exasperation were no surprise, but the deepening affection that echoed in every glance, touch, and admonishment was so acute, Harry could only liken it to love.

"POTTER!" Snape's chest was heaving and his dark eyes were wide, mortified.

"I… It was you…" Harry stammered. "I always thought Madam Pomfrey… _God!_ You really took care of me, didn't you?" Harry raised his head to look at Snape, green eyes rounded with awe and disbelief. The most he had hoped for since journeying to Cornwall had been a Snape-like tolerance, not _this_. Before he could stop it, his lips began to twitch.

"_Potter_…" Snape's tone was deep, dangerous.

Despite the threat, the twitching tilted up into a grin and Harry's eyes took on a mischievous gleam. "After what I just saw, couldn't you call me 'Harry'?"

Snape folded his arms across his chest and narrowed his eyes to menacing slits. "I think that should that highly obnoxious smirk remain on your face, I shall happily refrain from sharing with you my suggestion."

"It's not a smirk, it's a grin," Harry said, grin broadening until he was beaming. He crossed his arms over his chest mimicking Snape. "As for the other, I think you'll tell me…"

Snape glared at him, suspicious. "Pray tell, why do you think that?"

"Because if it's a way to keep me out from under Dumbledore's thumb, I'm all ears."

Snape snorted. "Hardly, more like all knobbly limbs, glasses, and… _hair._" He made a rueful gesture at Harry's head.

"You're one to talk!" Harry said, feigning insult. "I'm hardly knobbly compared to you, stalking about on those rail thin chicken legs, and _your_ hair…"

"Yes?" Snape growled ominously.

Harry cocked his head to the side, eyeing Snape's shoulder-length locks thoughtfully. "Well, it's not greasy at all, is it? It's just… really, really shiny… My hair's as black as yours, why isn't mine as shiny? If it's some potion you made, you need to patent it, maybe have Fred and –"

"I see now that my suggestion is best kept to myself." Snape crossed his legs.

"What?! Why?"

"You'll likely not want to do it anyway." Snape mumbled.

"It's kinda hard to make a decision when I don't know what I'm making a decision about?"

"…Very well." Snape began drumming his fingers against the arm of the chair. "As I said, I've considered this for some time and, I've concluded that the best way to forgo Albus' decisions concerning you is… if I become your guardian."

Harry blinked. "Guardian?"

"Yes," said Snape. He pinched the bridge of his nose as if regretting opening his mouth.

"Like the Dursleys?"

Snape scowled. "I'll forgive the offence, owing to the fact that this _is_ a rather unorthodox proposal."

Harry laughed. "I'm not saying you're like them! I just mean… would I have to live with you?"

"It would not be required while here at the castle, but it would not be… unwelcome."

Harry's green eyes lit up with smug humor.

"Oh Merlin! _Stop_ that!"

"All right..." Harry said, smiling. "So, what happens next?"

Snape's brows knitted together in a confused frown. "Wouldn't you like to give it a good deal more thought than the rash two seconds you've taken to consider it? Perhaps even talk it over with your frie –?"

"No."

"Potter…"

"Harry."

"Pot –"

"_Harry_."

Snape sighed. "Look, do not decide now. Take a few days and then let me know your answer."

"Okay..." Harry shrugged, "even though I've made up my mind."

"Potter!" Snape growled.

"Fine!" Harry laughed. "I'll think about it." He took a breath, suddenly serious. "I do have one thing, though."

Snape uncrossed his legs and leaned forward. "Go on."

"I think I understand why you acted the way you did after that meeting with Dumbledore. He told me that he hadn't expected us to become so close, but, sir, if we're going to do this adoption thing, don't – don't do anything like that again. I couldn't take it."

Snape's black eyes flashed and he nodded stiffly. A sudden warped chiming sound made them jump; Harry's watch. It hadn't been the same since Fang used it as a chew toy at Soth-ince.

"I gotta go! I have a revising session with Hermione."

"Indeed?"

Harry blushed at Snape's tone. "Neville and Ron'll be there, too. We have a presentation in Herbology." He shoved his feet into his shoes and snatched up his robe and book bag before turning to rush out of the room.

"Potter!"

Harry grabbed the door jamb to stop and spin back around. "Yeah?"

"Your scarf," said Snape, coming toward Harry. He wound the red and gold material around Harry's neck then tucked it in securely.

Harry reddened and grinned crookedly up at the man. "Thank you, sir."

*WO

**Greenhouse 3, Hogwarts, November 1996 (21)**

"You're absolutely mad! You know that don't you?" Ron yelled for the fifth time, clearly dissatisfied that the first four rants did not take.

"I know what I'm doing, Ron!" Harry yelled back. "And stop calling me 'mad'!"

"B-but… _adoption_?" Ron looked horrified. "You're going to let Snape _adopt_ you? What would your parents say? What would _Sirius_ say?"

"Ron!"

"Ron, you're bang out of order!"

"Don't tell me you've thought this through, mate," Ron said, ignoring Hermione and Neville's outbursts. "D'you honestly think they'd be okay with _Snape _adopting you?"

In that moment, Harry realized Ron would never understand why he wanted this. He couldn't pinpoint the moment things changed, when his and Snape's time together stopped being solely about managing his magic or steering clear of the Ministry, but it didn't matter. He had witnessed Snape on the cusp of death, had then watched him struggle to heal and succeed with a force of will Harry could not help but admire. Then, of course, there was the laundry list of things Snape had done to heal Harry of a wound he hadn't even realized had been so raw. And those memories, all those wondrous, dear memories he'd just seen...

"Unfortunately, they're not here to tell me their feelings on the matter," Harry told Ron coldly. "If they were, there'd be nothing to consider, would there?" He ripped off his dragonhide gloves and threw them to the ground. "Some of us don't have the luxury of debating parental choices for those without."

Ron's freckles made his skin look even more mottled than normal as he paled. "Harry, mate, I didn't –"

"If you can't deal with this, Ron… that's too bad." Harry grabbed his things and stalked out of the greenhouse, never stopping until he reached Snape's quarters.

*WO

**The Black Lake, Hogwarts, December 1996 (01)**

November had scarcely faded before the castle was awash in Christmas cheer. Courtesy of McGonagall, Flitwick, Sprout, and Charlie, extravagant Christmas decorations greeted the castle's inhabitants at nearly every turn. Resembling iced gingerbread trees, massive snow-covered evergreens topped with singing faeries lined the ground floor corridors. Harry found their woodsy aroma divine and often wandered about with his eyes closed and his nose in the air, breathing in their scent.

He also spent a good deal of time lakeside as his dorm was a tense place to be these days. He resisted spending extra time in Snape's quarters, though, not keen for the man to know of the rift between him and Ron. He had already sidestepped an explanation when Snape asked why he and Ron were at separate desks in Potions. Despite how close he and the man had become, Harry didn't feel comfortable speaking ill of Ron. In that same spirit, after their flap at the beginning of term, Harry decided that if another problem ever arose between him and Snape, he would not mention it to Ron.

With the boys not speaking, Hermione tried to split her time diplomatically between them, but she most often ended up in Harry's company. Ron had been in the midst of breaking up with Lavender Brown all week. Harry knew Hermione's feelings on that so he was not surprised to hear footsteps crunching the chilled grass behind him.

"Hi," Hermione said.

Harry held out his hand to help her down to the ground. "It's too cold out here. I was just about to come inside."

"You may want to wait a while longer. Lavender and Ron are having it out… She's none too pleased." Hermione drew her knees to her chest and linked her arms around them.

"Yeah? D'you think this is it?" Harry reached out to touch the edge of her cloak. She shivered as the warmth from his heating charm washed over her.

"Ugh! I certainly hope so!" She said with another shiver, though not from the charm. The whole House had been stunned by the Ron and Lavender coupling soon after Gryffindor's defeat of Hufflepuff, and equally annoyed by the high-octane soap opera the two played out each day.

Hermione learned to tolerate Lavender early on because, despite her disapproval, Ron was determined to continue dating the girl. It was only when Lavender made a snide comment about Harry's brooding and Ron's attentions to him that Hermione dropped all pretence of acceptance. Ron and Lavender had rowed long and loud once he discovered why Hermione was so angry, but as usual, he had fallen prey to Lavender's charms, allowing her to sweet talk him back into the relationship.

"Ron, okay?"

"I suppose…" Hermione said. "I don't know _why_ he took up with her, especially when Luna… Nevermind. It's none of my affair, really. I've told him time and time again what I thought and he chooses not to listen."

After a long moment of silence, she realized Harry had tuned her out as well. She sighed. "Harry, you can't mind what Ron has to say about you and Snape."

Harry snorted. "He acts like it affects him directly, or Iike I'm doing it to tick him off."

"It's hard for him… He feels like he's losing you."

"Hard for _him_? He's pissing on my decision, Hermione! It's like he doesn't want me to be happy!"

"Oh, that's not true! He just – he doesn't quite know how to reconcile the Snape you've come to know with the Snape he's known since our first-year. He doesn't want you to get hurt."

"Hurt? Snape would never hurt me!"

"Of course he wouldn't, but I think Ron's blinded by the fact that he has to share you now, and with Snape, of all people. Really, think about it from his end, Harry. You two have hated the professor since your first day here and now you're going to be Snape's charge."

"I know, but the professor and I have moved on, why can't Ron?" Harry slumped back against the tree and began to dig his heel into the grass, freeing clumps of frozen earth. "He's been surrounded by family all his life. He'll never understand what this means to me."

"Oh, Harry, he will." Hermione nudged him gently with her shoulder. "He just needs time to adjust, then things will be fine... When he's not pawing all over Lavender, he misses you." Harry hitched his eyebrows. "Honestly!" Hermione insisted. "I can't tell you the number of times we've been sat in the common room and he'll be talking to Seamus or Dean about Quidditch, or something equally obnoxious, and he'll call them by your name," she said. "He's done it to me as well… Bit annoying actually."

Harry chuckled at the perturbed look on her face. "Maybe he and Dumbledore can start a 'Snape adopting Harry is stupid' club."

"Oh… Still?"

"Yeah, he says I'm free to do as I wish, but that he can't support my decision. And _please_ don't say anything about his 'reasons.'"

"I wasn't going to. I think he's wrong. I can't imagine any reason to deny you this."

"I can't either."

*WO

**Snape's Quarters, Hogwarts, December 1996 (08)**

Buoyed by the spirit of the holiday season, and Hermione's 'encouragement' for them to make things up before leaving the castle for the break, Harry and Ron sat down to hash out their differences.

"Whatever you want to do, mate," Ron said, worn out from a week of non-stop rowing with Lavender. "I'll support it just as long as we don't have to make this whole thing into a… thing, yeah?"

Not wanting to draw things out anymore than Ron did, Harry shrugged. They had then shaken hands – friendship mended. Harry could have laughed at the disappointed look on Hermione's face, who had been, he was sure, expecting a touch more drama, possibly infused with a few tears, but he knew better; he liked having a pustule-free face.

A few days later he invited Hermione and Ron to visit him in Snape's quarters, hoping to get them (Ron) used to spending time there. Snape had made it clear that Harry didn't have to live in the dungeons, but Harry looked forward to moving out of Gryffindor Tower once the adoption was finalized.

After issuing his invitation, Harry left the Tower happy, though surprised at how readily Ron had agreed to come. Hermione's influence was written all over that decision. Before heading to the dungeons, he made a pit-stop. An hour later he arrived at Snape's quarters, eased the door open and, for a change, closed it quietly. He was about to call out to Snape when he heard the man speak.

"Albus, I will tell Potter when the time is right!"

"Tell me what?"

Snape and Dumbledore looked to nearly jump out of their skins when Harry rounded the corner into the sitting room. He chucked his book bag onto the floor then shrugged out of his robes, tossing them over the arm of the sofa. Snape's eyes went wide as he scrambled for an answer.

"The a-adoption…"

Harry's face lit up. He looked to Dumbledore. "So you're going to help us, Professor?"

"No, no, Harry. I am sorry," Dumbledore said, seeming genuinely regretful.

"But, why not?" Harry frowned. "We both want it. What's the big deal?"

"I have my reasons. Severus is aware of them. If you wish to know what they are, ask him." Dumbledore patted Harry's shoulder then nodded at Snape on his way out.

"What're his 'reasons'?" Harry said, annoyed. "The way he talks sometimes!"

"It doesn't matter, Potter." Snape ran a hand through his hair. "I'll just have to find a way to do this on my own." Then he looked at Harry as if seeing him for the first time. The boy's cheeks were flushed and his eyes bright with mischief. He also had Lily's medallion in his hand.

"What's happened?"

"What do you mean?" Harry plopped down onto the sofa.

"Why does your expression resemble the Weasley twins' when they are up to something? …Or have _done _something?"

"I haven't done anything! Really!" Harry laughed at Snape's disbelieving scowl. "Well… I kinda went to the Hog's Head." Snape's brows skyrocketed. "I used the tunnels and my Cloak!" Harry added quickly, hoping to temper the storm forming on the man's face.

"We have discussed the dangers of you leaving the castle _and_ of using that Cloak to do so! I forbid –"

"I know, I know! I'm sorry, but, Aberforth gave me a clue about my mum's medallion." Harry interrupted eagerly.

"Indeed?" Snape said, wary, anger flown.

"Indeed."

"Stop mocking me."

"Certainly."

"Insufferable brat." Snape scowled at Harry's grin then swallowed. "What did he tell you?"

"Well, he's as cagey as the headmaster when you ask him something… Anyway, he told me that books don't always have the answers, that I should look to someone close to me because they might."

"Ind – Did he?"

"Yeah, but I still stopped by the library before coming home." Looking down to pull an old Ancient Runes text out of his book bag, Harry missed Snape's surprised look. "I wanted to find out what my mum's symbol meant, and since Hermione refused to tell me..." He sounded put out.

"How extraordinarily wise of her."

Harry fired off a half-hearted scowl. "I know that the positive aspects of it are," he picked up a sheet of parchment upon which he had scrawled his notes, "a healing power of renewal and some other stuff, but this tiny mark here in the crook of her symbol..." With Lily's medallion in hand Harry went to Snape. Using his blunt thumbnail, he pointed out his discovery. "See? It looks like a lightning bolt?"

When Snape grunted in acknowledgment, Harry pulled up the other wing chair to sit before the man.

"I'd never really paid any attention to it until I saw it in that book. It says it represents the letter 's.'" Harry took a breath. "You gave this to her, didn't you?"

Snape's attention to Lily's medallion had always struck Harry as strange. If he happened to have it in hand, rubbing it for comfort, or just mindlessly swinging it about, Snape was always watching. And judging the man's reaction, his interest was not simple curiosity; he looked at the medallion with a longing reserved for the familiar. Harry could have kicked himself for not connecting the dots sooner.

When Snape said nothing, Harry said, "You can tell me, you know. Who knows, maybe I can use it to off Voldemort."

Snape's expression hardened in an instant. "That's not funny."

Harry swallowed. "Sorry… But, did you – did you give it to her?"

Snape sighed, knowing Harry would dog him until he got an answer. "Yes, I gave it to her."

"Really?! When?"

"Christmas, fifth-year."

"Blimey… Did she like it?" Harry watched Snape, hungry for any scrap of information.

Snape passed a hand over eyes and shook his hair back from his face. "I imagine she did... She kept it."

"So, you two were friends?"

"For a time."

"Is that why you and my fath –"

A knock at the door cut Harry off.

"Bollocks!"

"I beg your pardon?"

"I invited Ron and Hermione down."

"I see," Snape said. When Harry kept looking at him, Snape hitched an eyebrow. "You plan to keep them waiting as what, a testament to your hosting skills?"

Harry rolled his eyes and got up. "'You plan to keep them waiting?'" He mimicked then fled the room as a charmed pillow connected with the back of his head. Laughing, he yanked the door open. Ron and Hermione gave him a curious look taking in his grinning face and breathless greeting.

"Hi!"

"What's goin' on?" Ron said as he strolled in after Hermione.

"Nothing, much… Just teasin' the professor."

"I heard that." Snape drawled as he rounded the corner, eyebrow askew.

"Good evening, Professor," said Hermione, smiling brightly.

After a quick jab to the ribs, Ron grunted. "Professor."

Snape nodded a terse greeting and then asked Harry, "Will you be returning to the Tower tonight?"

"No, I'm staying here… if you don't mind," Harry said.

"You know I don't mind," Snape said, eliciting a grin from Harry. "I'll be in the lab should you need anything." He nodded curtly at Ron and Hermione and started away.

"C'mon, let's go sit," Harry said, closing the door.

"Why not come back to the Tower tonight, mate?" Ron asked as they entered the sitting room. He looked around, assessing the space. Judging from his surprise, he had clearly expected black, water-slick walls, forgotten piles of bleached bones, roosting bats, shackles, and the like.

"I have some things I need help doing," Harry said.

"Homework stuff? Why not ask Hermione about it?" Ron said, flopping into the chair by the fire. "We've hardly seen you at all this week."

"Ron, he's got rather a lot to be going on with, you know," Hermione said, settling on the sofa. Harry went to sit beside her.

"Well, the adoption is still dragging on, but it's not just that… I found out something about my mum." He uttered a nervous, little laugh.

"From Professor Snape?" Hermione asked, intrigued. "What does he know about her?"

"He just told me that they were friends here at school."

"No!" Hermione whispered. "Were they ever more than that?"

"Dunno, but the medallion? He gave it to her fifth-year." Harry held the silver disc out for Hermione to see. She took it to get a closer look. He pointed to Snape's symbol. "Like my mum's, it represents the first letter of his name."

"So, what happened?" Ron said, slouched in his chair. "They surely didn't stay friends once he became a bleedin' Death Eater, did they?"

Feeling protective of his mother and Snape, Harry said, "My parents got together seventh-year is what happened."

Hermione stopped examining the medallion to look up. Harry's face had tightened, and Ron was doing a poor job of trying to temper his vague look of disgust.

"So, um, Harry, what are your plans for Christmas?" She asked, aiming for a cheerful topic.

"He's comin' to the Burrow," Ron said, as if the question was ridiculous.

Harry frowned. "Actually, I'm staying here."

"Come off it, mate, why in bloody hell d'you want to stay _here_?"

"The _professor_ is here."

"So?" Ron shrugged.

"Ron!" Hermione snapped. "Are you really that dense or just that unfeeling?"

"What? Why'd he rather stay here with _Snake_, than be with _us_ at Christmas?"

"Ron, Harry and Professor Snape are –"

"No, Hermione," said Harry, holding out his hand to silence her. His green eyes sparked intensely as he focused on Ron. "Ron, you're my best mate, but you need to stop with the insulting comments."

Stunned by Harry's cold tone, Ron's mouth worked as he tried to come up with a response. "I... I didn't mean it like..."

"Yes, you did." Harry could see Ron tossing over what to say next. He was likely considering the fact of their newly mended friendship, but Harry recognized the stubborn set of Ron's jaw that he got only when he was about to say something out of order.

"Well," Ron blurted, "so what? You spend every waking moment with him like he's your new best mate or something! And this adoption thing? Everybody thinks it's a bloody joke!"

"Everybody or just you? Because I've yet to hear a word of complaint from anybody _except_ you!" Harry snarled, rising to his feet. Ron followed, his features set in a hard scowl.

"Stop it!" Hermione jumped up to stand between them.

"_What_ is going on in here?" Snape's furious tone sliced through the air.

"Nothing…" Harry replied heatedly. "Ron's just leaving, is all."

From the corner of his eye, Harry glimpsed Snape's surprise and his eyes narrow as he took in the crimson-faced redhead perched angrily over him.

"Mr. Weasley," he said. "Sit down."

"No," said Harry, "let him go." His lip curled as he looked up at Ron.

"Sit. Down," repeated Snape. "All of you – now!"

Eyeing each other like duelers, Ron and Harry slowly returned to their seats. Hermione huffed past them to resume her spot as well.

"What is the meaning of all this?" Snape said, crossing his arms over his chest. His eyes skipped from angry face to angry face, but no one responded. "Fine," he said silkily. "That's 200 points from Gryffindor... _each_."

"No!" Ron roared, whirling in his seat to face Snape, while Harry and Hermione gaped at him in horror and disbelief.

"Then answer my question, Mr. Weasley!"

Ron instantly reddened at the request.

"Yeah, Ron," said Harry. "Go ahead, tell him what –" He fell silent at a sharp glare from Snape.

"Hermione asked Harry what his plans were for the hols," Ron said, gritting his teeth.

"Indeed?" Snape said, pinching the bridge of his nose, already weary of the teenage melodrama being played out. "Why would that warrant a shouting match in my quarters?"

"I didn't think it did," Ron said, "especially as I'm just trying to look out for him."

"Why, exactly does Potter need looking out for?" Snape asked, genuinely curious.

"Ithink he needs to be around _family _during Christmas," Ron said.

"Ron, you're being ridiculous!" Hermione said, stunned by the ugly look gracing her friend's face.

"Ah, well," Snape said, "if indeed I cared to allay whatever misguided notions you have regarding Potter's plans for the holidays, I still would not, as it is _family _business, thus, none of yours, Mr. Weasley."

Harry would have laughed at the bewildered expression on Ron's face, but he didn't dare. As angry as he was, he understood that Ron was still grappling with the change in his relationship with Snape, but it irked him that his best friend had given scant effort to understand its importance to him.

"Fine," said Ron, the word no more than a low grunt. "You do what you want," he said, directing his words to Harry.

"I always do," Harry replied.

Ron snorted and rolled his eyes. He got to his feet and said, "I'm leaving."

Hermione looked up at him and then at Harry, clearly at a loss. "It's okay," Harry said. "Go with him."

"Are you sure?" she asked.

"Yeah…"

Hermione sighed and gave his hand a squeeze. Before getting to her feet, she planted a quick kiss on his cheek and whispered: "I'll talk to him. It'll be fine."

Ron was already half-way to the door, rudely ignoring Snape on his way out. Embarrassed, Hermione turned to Snape. "I'm really sorry, Professor, for... everything. Good night."

At the sound of the door closing, Snape took the chair Ron had just vacated.

"I wish Ron would stop being a prat!" Harry said. He threw himself back against the sofa, flinging his arms across his chest.

"What do you intend to do about it?"

"_Do?_ Ron's the one with the problem!" Furious, Harry raised his eyes to look at Snape, but the man's calm expression was contagious. Harry exhaled loudly and released his arms, relaxing. "I don't know. I thought we'd settled things... I can't believe he doesn't understand what this means to me!"

"It has been my experience that those born into abundance often fail to appreciate the lot of those who are not."

"But, Ron's not rich!"

"There are different types of abundance, Potter. Mr. Weasley was born into a large family with siblings anchored by both parents."

"Oh, yeah, well, for Ron, all those brothers isn't that great a selling point," Harry muttered.

"Potter, my point –"

"No… I get it, I do." Harry ran his hands through his hair, frustrated. "I just really thought he'd accept things, for my sake."

"To do that, he'd be forced to accept me as well. Judging from his attitude, he's not ready for that."

"Well, that's too bad!" Harry fumed. "Because you're my family now! Er... you will be, soon..." He looked up to find Snape regarding him, a bemused look on his face. Harry blushed, self-conscious. "What? Did I say something… wrong?"

"No," Snape said, his voice strangely husky. "It's… Hearing you say that, I was simply taken by surprise."

"Why? You just told Ron the same thing."

"Yes but I was angry at his insinuation that you'd be better off spending the holidays with his family… yet I momentarily wondered if he had a point."

"What!?"

"Potter," Snape said, raising his hands, "we are new to this and I did wonder if you mightn't feel more comfort –"

"I can't believe you're saying that! _You_ took care of me last summer! _You_ trained me; _you _fought with me and for me… You're about to _adopt_ me, and you wonder if I wouldn't feel better about spending Christmas with someone else's family?"

Snape sat dumbstruck, wondering when had he become the one in need of reassurance?

*WO


	18. Chapter 18

Disclaimer: JK Rowling's characters.

**The Library, Hogwarts, December 1996 (11)**

Three days before everyone left for the Christmas holiday, Harry made a decision. The thing he overheard two nights ago in the library decided him.

"So, you going to see your _boyfriend_ over the holiday?" Lavender Brown asked Hermione.

Steps away from the girls, Harry nearly dislocated his shoulder spinning about to flatten himself against a neighboring bookcase.

"_What?_" Hermione squeaked.

"The bloke she saw you with on Diagon Alley?"

Shifting to spy over a row of books, Harry saw Hermione looking at Parvati Patil, bewildered.

"Oh, don't play coy!" Lavender cooed. "I saw you and Ron in front of Madam Malkin's talking to the Malfoys, that tall, _gorgeous_ blond by your side!" She elbowed Parvati. "I don't know _what _Mr. Malfoy said, but at one point Tall, Blond, and Gorgeous looked like he was going to haul off and punch him straight in the mouth! Oh, I wish you'd seen him, stepping in front of Hermione as if she needed protecting – it was just _darling_!" Harry rolled his eyes when she pouted and added: "If only Ron was like that with me..."

"Oh please!" Parvati scoffed. "You'd be better rid of that arse! …Um, no offence, Hermione," she quickly added, without an iota of sincerity.

Hermione smiled. "Oh, none taken," she said lightly. "It's remarkable how readily one with similar traits recognizes a fellow."

Parvati despised Ron, had ever since his 'horrid' treatment of her sister at the Yule Ball fourth-year. Like most everyone else she had found him and Lavender as a couple laughable, but unlike most everyone else, she had never shied away from saying so. While Hermione agreed with her about the Ron/Lavender mess, she had never adopted Parvati's vicious, condescending attitude nor bashed Lavender, whom she believed had as much honest feeling for Ron as a nail had for a piece of wood. And it seemed the girl held her friendship with Parvati in the same shallow esteem: When Parvati opened her mouth in what was sure to be a biting rejoinder, Lavender jabbed her in the side, plainly eager to circle back to the juicy and (when discussed in private with Parvati) _unbelievable_ topic of Hermione's love life.

"So," she said, turning back to Hermione, "this blond, _is_ he your boyfriend?"

"No!" Hermione snapped. "He's a friend… _just_ a friend." She began to throw her books into her book bag, thinking the gossipmongers would get the hint. No such luck.

"Then why are you blushing?" Parvati demanded.

"Well, he _was _gorgeous… wasn't he, Hermione?" Lavender sighed wistfully.

Harry didn't stick around to hear her response; he felt like a heel for having lingered as long as he had. Meandering down to the dungeons, he replayed the conversation: Hermione only liked James as a friend – James who was tall where Harry was short; James whose hair was blond, and shaggy, where Harry's was black, and unruly; James who was heroically muscular where Harry was… well, less than heroic.

If those things didn't bode well for _James_, what chance did _Harry_ have?

WO*

At dinner, Harry glanced down to see Ron morosely shoveling a heaving forkful of shepherd's pie into his mouth. He and Lavender were apparently on the outs again; the boy was sat nearly halfway down the table perched amongst a group of fourth-years who kept casting him annoyed and suspicious glares. Harry loathed not being able to talk to him about what he had overheard, but he was determined to carry out his plan.

"Hermione, can we talk… after dinner?"

"Of course… Everything okay?"

"Not really, n-no."

Hermione gripped his arm. "What is it?"

Harry flushed. "I'd, uh, rather wait 'til we're alone."

"Oh… All right," she said, after regarding him for a moment. She went back to her meal, but she went about it mechanically, suddenly preoccupied, and leery.

Harry picked up his own spoon, but all he could do was make choppy ripples in his soup. Restless, he kept glancing at Hermione, silently urging her to finish eating. The instant she put her fork down Harry tossed his spoon, grabbed her hand, her bag, and hustled her up to the Room of Requirement.

"Harry, what –?" Hermione panted, as he lugged her inside the room. "Is it the professor? Did Ron –"

"No. S'nothing like that... It's, um, personal."

She paled. "Okay."

"I just wanted to know how you felt about me," Harry said, eager to lance the boil of curiosity.

Hermione blinked. "I care about you very much, Harry. You're my friend."

"Yeah." Harry sighed, disappointed. "But, what about as more than a friend? I mean... Am I your type or do you like, you know… big, blond, shaggy haired blokes?"

"Big? Blond?" Hermione said, flabbergasted, but then she burst into bright laughter, sounding terribly relieved; it grated on Harry's already fried nerves. Noting his hurt expression, Hermione looked apologetic. "Like James?" she said, softly. Harry shrugged. "Oh, Harry, you silly, silly... How could you possibly think –"

"Well, Lavender said –" he began, then realized his mistake when Hermione narrowed her eyes.

"Lavender? How do you… How could you… You were sneaking about the library, weren't you?" Hermione boxed him in the shoulder.

"_Ow!_ I didn't mean to! I'd come to walk – Ow! – you back to the Tower and I kinda heard everything… Anyway, you know Lavender – OW! – she doesn't have an inside voice!"

Hermione stopped attacking him to giggle. "That's true, but nor does she have a clue about my taste in guys."

Rubbing at his shoulder, Harry offered up a one-sided grin. "Yeah? So all those muscles, hazel eyes, and manageable hair didn't interest you at all, eh?"

"No!" Hermione exclaimed, a bit too quickly for Harry's taste. He looked at her, dubious, recalling the greedy way she had eyeballed him at the festival. Reading his expression, Hermione boxed him in the shoulder again and said, "I was perfectly aware that beneath all that hair and muscles, it was you. The eyes were different, the body was… different, but when you talked about Snape, and the way you charmed my parents? It was all you."

"Uh huh…" He grinned and she poked him in the stomach. He laughed, then asked, "Why so relieved, earlier?"

"Oh…" she said, and blushed. "I thought… I thought you were going to tell me that you were interested in someone…"

Harry gave a snort of laughter. "Who?"

"…Doesn't matter."

"Well, good, because I'm not, you know, interested… I… Oh, bollocks!" Harry grasped Hermione's hands in his, noting with a pang that his were clammy, or maybe hers were. Anyway it was too late to worry about it now."Hermione?"

"Yes, Harry?" she said, breathless.

Her mocha colored eyes danced with expectation, and Harry knew with an inexplicable flash of certainty, that this was going to be the first and last time he asked a girl this question. All he had to do was be cool. _Be real cool._

"Will, um… Do, uh… Wanna be my girlfriend?" He blurted in a completely _un_cool way, but Hermione couldn't have cared less. She was beaming.

"On one condition," she said. Harry hitched a wary brow and she laughed, thinking how Snape-like the expression was, but her tone was serious when she said, "Ron…" Harry made a noise of disgust and shook free from her grip. "Harry, really, this has gone on long enough! You know it has!"

"So! He's the idiot in all this!"

"Meaning you have to be one right along with him?!"

Harry scowled and flung his arms across his chest. Hermione shook her head, certain the green-eyed boy had no idea how many of Snape's mannerisms he had acquired.

"Look," she said, "I know it's difficult to forgive the things he said. It's equally exasperating trying to make him see reason, but you can do this. You _have_ to do this." Harry offered up another scowl, but it lacked heat. Hermione sighed. "Honestly, for boys you two are such girls!"

"Oy!"

"Yes," Hermione said, surreptitiously closing the distance between them. Harry blinked, confused. "In answer to your question… from before." Hermione clarified. She then linked his arms around her waist and pulled him closer. She gazed at his nose, enchanted by the tiny mole on the tip of it.

"Oh... But, I haven't agreed to talk to Ron." Harry smiled, wondering what was so intriguing about his nose. He wished she would look up.

"You will." She put her arms around his neck, then tilted her head, bringing her lips so close to his he could feel her breath.

Harry's voice cracked when their eyes met again. "How do you know?"

"Because –"

Then realizing he was deathly uninterested in hearing what was sure to be a threat, Harry pressed his lips to hers, silencing her. She responded by tightening her arms around him, and pressing her body even closer to his. When she moaned, Harry wondered, vaguely, if his head was supposed to feel as if it was about to explode. That would be a bother, especially when the kissing _and_ the moaning was this fine. And she was so _curvy_ and soft against him…

_Be cool. Be _real_ cool _he told himself. Then Hermione slipped him the tongue, and coolness scattered like confetti on New Year's. He might have laughed were his mouth not full…

Later, he entered the dungeons, a dazed and altogether goofy, smile on his lips which were puffy from kissing. Normally he called out to Snape to announce his arrival, but not tonight. From his spot on the sofa, Snape asked if he was all right. With a weird flap of his hand, which made parchments on Snape's desk flutter, Harry responded: "Goodnight to you, too…"

Bemused, and a touch concerned, Snape's eyes followed the boy's passage as Harry continued on to his room. He considered the Gryffindor's behavior, then recalled him dragging Hermione from the Hall at dinner, leaving long before anyone else did. _Ah. _The boy all but drooled when around her; he had obviously done something about it. Snape settled back and turned a page in his book.

WO*

**Hagrid's Hut, Hogwarts, December 1996 (12)**

The next day, Harry and Ron met up at Hagrid's hut where Charlie grudgingly gave them some privacy: "Don't know why you have to come down here… Got the whole damn castle to roam about and you come _here_? Bloody hell!"

Once Charlie had snatched his coat and scarf off the hook by the door and stomped out, Ron said, "Listen, Harry, to be honest, I'm not in the mood for a long row… Lavender, she's driven me absolutely _mad_ last couple a weeks!"

Harry gusted a sigh of relief because he didn't see the need of a deep exploration of their feelings either. Contrary to what Hermione believed, they were _not _girls.

"I kinda figured something was up since you sat with the fourth-years last night," he said.

Ron scowled and ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah, well, it's done… _finally_. She never let up, mate, tellin' me how to open the door for her or that I should throw my robes over a puddle so her feet didn't get wet or some rot! Like I didn't know how to treat her! Like I wasn't a gentleman!" He grimaced. "I s'pose it's only what I deserve, though. Hermione told me I was a real arse for taking up with her." He began to pick at his cuticles, ragged from his Keeper's gloves. "How badly d'you think she's bad-mouthed me to Luna?"

"You know better than that," Harry said, recalling Hermione's response to Parvati's crass appraisal of Ron.

Ron grunted in response. "D'you think Luna'll want to be with me?"

With a wry grin, Harry said, "It's not as if I talk to Luna all that much, but she's smart about people, y' know? I mean, she had nearly the entire summer to get to know you, and she doesn't run screaming at the sight of you, so…"

"Yeah, but with all that's goin' on with her dad… What if I muck it up?"

"You won't," Harry said. Ron gave him a look. Harry sighed. "Fine, then, Luna's emotional smarts'll balance yours… or the lack thereof." He threw his hands up when Ron opened his mouth to defend himself. "You asked for it! Anyway, those are Hermione's words, not mine."

Ron's shoulders slumped in concession. "Yeah, well, Lavender's no better. She only wanted me 'cause I'm Keeper and we've been winning our matches. I wanted her 'cause…" He reddened. "Well, you seen her… She's…" Ron arched his back in an exaggerated fashion, then brought his hands up to his chest, shifting them about as if he were juggling something. Harry's eyebrows shot up. He battled to keep a straight face, but it was bloody difficult because Lavender was… abundantly endowed, and Ron looked utterly ridiculous. Harry pursed his lips, trying not laugh. Luckily, Ron read his expression as disapproving and sighed.

"I _am_ an arse, aren't I? A shallow, vain, thoughtless, arse."

"Yeah," Harry said with a cheerful snort. Ron swatted him on the knee.

"Well, what should I do?"

"Do what I did."

Ron cocked his head, pinning Harry with his blue eyes. "You'n Hermione?" Harry nodded. Ron grinned and leaned forward to clap Harry on the knee again. "Good on you, mate! That's fantastic!"

Harry lit up with a grin of his own. "Thanks for the encouragement early on. It meant a lot."

Ron's expression sobered. "Yeah, encouragement... Harry, about this adoption thing. With you planning to move out of the Tower and –"

"Ron, I'll be around. It's not like you'll never see me, but I've got to spend time with the professor, too. Don't – don't make this into a pissing contest, tryin' to make me choose –"

"No!" Ron flapped a hand at Harry. "I'm all right with that." Harry hitched a brow. "Well, y'know, as all right as I'm gonna be, but I worry, mate, now everyone knows what's going on. Slytherins, some of'em have it bad for you – not that they haven't always, but I know you've had words with a couple of 'em, Baddock in particular."

"You needn't worry about them. Snape's got'em on a fairly short lead here lately."

Ron opened his mouth and then closed it again, as if considering his next words. Harry tensed; Ron thinking before speaking was worrying.

"I can't promise I'll ever like Snape, Harry… but for _you_," Ron blew out his cheeks, "I'll give being civil a go."

Harry breathed out in relief. During their tiff, he came to realize that nothing short of a miracle would make Ron change his mind about Snape, and he knew better than hold out hope for it. Weasleys weren't generally quick to change their minds about someone once an impression had been made; Ginny _still_ couldn't stand Fleur.

"I really couldn't imagine going through this without you," he said. "It's not like anything we've been through, you know? It's something good this time."

Ron rapped his fist gently against Harry's knee twice in silent agreement.

"He just, he really took care of me over the summer," he went on shyly. "No one's ever cared for me like that."

"That's an arse-load of shite, Harry Potter, and you know it! Snape's not the only one cares about you!"

"I didn't mean it like that…" Harry said quickly. "I'm just, still getting used to the fact that he wants to… you know?"

Ron reddened. In a bright flash of understanding, he thought, _Merlin! I'm an arse, an A-one, prime rate, certifiable arse! _He now realized what it all meant to Harry – the adoption, his acceptance. Harry only wanted a thing that had been denied him since Halloween 1981, a thing as natural as breathing, yet like one's next breath, hardly a guarantee. Ron knew that from experience; he had been within a breath of losing _his _dad last Christmas.

Overwhelmed by Ron's expression, Harry looked down. Hagrid's wood floor gleamed. A sudden longing to see the half-giant hit him like a fist.

"So," he cleared his throat and rubbed his hands together roughly, "Luna..."

Rubbing at his eyes with the heels of his palms, Ron gave a bark of laughter.

WO*

**Snape's Quarters, Hogwarts, December 1996 (14)**

Harry dashed down to Snape's quarters after bidding goodbye to a sobbing Hermione, and a smirking Ron at the castle's entrance. His watch read ten o'clock, but it had read ten o'clock all day, every day, for several days now. He sighed. He needed a new watch. Just as he was about to slam the door shut, Snape stuck out a hand to stop it shattering his nose.

"Sorry, sir! Didn't know you were behind me."

"Are you ready?" Snape said. Harry shook his head. "Well, off with you then."

Harry darted into his room. He chucked his things into an abused rucksack he had filched from Dudley's room two summers ago, then rejoined Snape in the entry hall. A heavy knock sounded just as Snape reached to open the door.

Charlie Weasley was on the other side, his thick arm being jerked about by Fang as he gripped the dog's collar. As soon as there was enough of an opening, Fang shook free and squirted past Snape to greet Harry with a lunge and a sloppy kiss. Harry laughed, allowing the rambunctious behavior for a bit before ordering the dog to sit.

Charlie blew out a breath and rubbed his reddened hands together. "He bowled over half of Ravenclaw as they were boardin' the carriages 'cause he knew where we were headed… He pines for you somethin' awful at night, Harry. Maybe he could stay with you full-time 'til Hagrid gets back?"

Harry turned to Snape. "Sir?"

Charlie snickered. "Seen that look before. Ginny could get all us boys to do just about anything for her – still can on occasion."

Snape rolled his eyes, then he nodded.

"Thank you, sir!" Harry beamed. "Thanks Charlie!"

"Cheers, Harry, Professor. Happy Christmas!"

"Yeah, Charlie! Happy Christmas!"

WO*

**The Hog's Head, Hogsmeade, December 1996 (14)**

Exiting the school gates Snape Apparated Harry and Fang to the Hog's Head. For their arrival, Aberforth had shuttered the pub, thus Harry found himself in the pub proper instead of their rooms upstairs. Before letting go of Snape's arm, he blinked owlishly, silently cursing the loathsome effects of Apparating. Unfazed, Fang barked and loped over to the bar where Aberforth was shelving spirits. Hefting his gangly forelimbs onto the bar's edge, the dog panted and drooled as his big body quivered excitedly.

"Hullo dog!" said Aberforth with a rusty chuckle. He extracted a tasty treat from his pocket and tossed it to the boarhound. Fang snapped it out of the air and woofed – a clear request for an encore, which Aberforth obliged.

"Harry, lad, how are you keeping?" Aberforth came from behind the bar to embrace Harry.

"Great, sir," Harry said. Within the circle of the old wizard's arms, the now familiar cocktail of cherries and wood enveloped him, the comforting smoky-sweet remnant of Aberforth's pipe. Harry inhaled deeply. In years to come, every time he smelled it on a passerby on the street, in a shop or in a pub, he would smile. Hermione would ask, 'What is it?' He would say 'Smoky cherries' and she'd laugh. Even later, Hana would pipe 'Papa Abie', in her childish alto.

After a moment, Aberforth pulled back to look Harry over. It had been less than a month since their last meeting, but that visit hardly counted because Harry had not been able to linger after extracting what clues he could about his mother's medallion from the old wizard. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Snape looking at them, a queer expression on his face. When Harry lifted an eyebrow, Snape seemed to shake himself loose from whatever had taken hold of him.

"Severus," said Aberforth, holding his arms out to the man.

Snape walked over and embraced the old wizard, looking far more at ease doing so than he had last August. "You're keeping well, Papa?"

"'Bout as well as a tick on a hound!" After taking meticulous stock of Snape's appearance, Aberforth smiled at him. Cradled within deep, leathery wrinkles his blue eyes shone. "Let's get you two settled upstairs."

Harry grinned. "Yes, sir."

WO*

**The Hog's Head, Hogsmeade, December 1996 (20)**

Harry's holiday became a repetitive mix of eating, sleeping, teasing Fang, teasing Snape, and staying up past midnight playing wizard chess with Aberforth. The man was as skillful a player as Ron was, which meant Harry typically got slaughtered, but thanks to the old wizard's tips his game was improving, giving Harry hope that he could one day defeat Ron.

He also exchanged letters with Hermione, helped out Aberforth in the pub much as he had last summer, and sat on the sofa as opposed to lying on the sofa which had, according to Snape, "become an unattractive extension of his hind end." Harry's cheeky response had been to make a show of flipping over onto his stomach – or when he bored of being face down, onto his side.

Despite being confined to the pub, Harry found the village's festive energy pervasive. The Hog's Head sat along the bottom edge of the village, so Harry could see much of the end of the High Street from his bedroom window. He saw street posts and building eaves awash in green garland, ruby red bows and ribbons, gold and silver bells, and scads of holly and mistletoe wreaths bathed in white and gold fairy lights. He saw people, as well – families – bustling about as they shopped. When he spotted carolers, he would push open his window and listen to their bright, merry harmonies as they stood, bundled up against the frigid wind. There was no snow, though, and there probably wouldn't be, according to Aberforth's bones.

"When my left knee pains me, I know snow is sure to fly, but I haven't felt so much as a twinge," he said.

Two days before Christmas, 'James' and 'Edmund' ventured out to shop for gifts. They hit most of the shops but, to Harry's amusement, stayed well and clear of the Three Broomsticks. Later that night, on his way to the loo, Harry overheard Snape gently accuse the elderly wizard of spoiling him.

"Rubbish!" Aberforth growled.

"That watch you're giving him must have cost a small fortune," Snape said from where he lay on the sofa.

"Bah! Material things hold little sway over that boy. I couldn't get him to take even a Knut for working in the pub last summer, so what if I'm making up for it a bit now?" Aberforth chuckled. "Besides, I've witnessed you do far worse…"

"I beg your pardon?" Snape said, sounding so deeply affronted, Harry was compelled to peek around the corner.

"Son, you cater to that boy in a way I wouldn't have believed possible, especially considering who he is."

"I've done so simply because it was imperative that he be allowed to focus on improving –"

"Hush!" Aberforth said with a wave of his pipe. "That might have been true back in July when Albus first asked you to look after him, but I told it to Albus, same as I told it to you – looking after that boy has been good for you. And," Aberforth rasped softly, "being looked after has obviously done wonders for Harry. When he speaks of you – which is often – it's with great affection."

At that moment, Fang rounded the corner into the hallway and began to snuffle loudly at Harry's bare toes. He knelt down to quiet the dog, and to protect his feet.

"The boy is a Gryffindor, prone to emotional –"

"Call it what you want, Harry cares for you a great deal."

Snape grunted and thrust his arm behind his head to prop it up higher on the sofa's arm. "Do not let him hear you say such a thing."

"I reckon he could give a Niffler's arse what anyone thinks. Even you." Aberforth puffed on his pipe, blowing out a fragrant cloud of smoke. "He's a good boy, yes?"

For a long spell the only sounds to be heard were the creak of Aberforth's rocker and the cheerful crackling of the logs in the fire. Harry strained to hear, curious, _just curious…_

"Yes, he is," came Snape's soft response.

Harry ducked back behind the wall and buried his face in Fang's neck, trying to temper the burning in his eyes. Deciding he'd heard enough, he went back to his room and quietly closed the door.

WO*

**The Hog's Head, Hogsmeade, Christmas Eve 1996**

Three owls arrived on Christmas Eve. In the lengthening dusk, they were nearly indistinguishable outside the sitting room window, then Harry caught sight of a large amber-colored eye in the midst of a shadowy blob of white.

"Hedwig!" Harry leapt to his feet, eliciting a basso yelp from Fang after stumbling over the dog on his way to fling open the window. "Hey, girl!" He yelled.

Hedwig was equally thrilled to see Harry, but burdened by several parcels she was squawking and flapping her beautiful snowy wings in a most undignified way. Aberforth rushed to free her of the parcels while Snape took charge of the barn owl and the large gray owl which Harry recognized as Hermes, Percy's owl. He spared them only a fleeting glance before busying himself with scratching at the small spot Hedwig loved having scratched just above her beak. She hooted softly and closed her eyes, hissing happily like a large, feathery cat.

Hedwig had not been idle over the summer, Harry had learned. She had served as occasional courier, conveying Hagrid's coded correspondences to Dumbledore. She was in good hands with Hagrid, Harry knew, but he had missed her desperately. He wondered if her appearance meant that Hagrid would return soon.

Just as the thought crossed his mind, he laid eyes on a crudely wrapped package among the lot the owls had brought. Wherever he was, the half-giant had made do with the materials he had on hand. He looked to have stitched together several large tree leaves to create wrapping paper. A note with Harry's name on it was attached to the package. Harry itched to rip it open and read it, but he decided to wait. He got up, and with the other packages, set them alongside the other gifts resting beneath the small, ash colored 'tree' Aberforth had conjured.

The sparsely decorated shrub bore gray garland charmed to change every five seconds from gray to grayer; Harry figured the man had to be colorblind as the pub's palette was equally bland. When he remarked, not unkindly, on the tree's appearance, Aberforth blamed its homeliness on his brother, claiming that while Albus had received the glut of the family's creativity, he, Aberforth, had been "accursed with the body of a Greek god and the libido of a Knockturn Alley trick."

Harry had gaped at the man, then doubled over with laughter when Aberforth threw him a sly wink; Snape, in the midst of taking a sip of tea, had choked, then performed a flawless, albeit unintended, spit-take which forced Harry to stagger out of the room, howling.

WO*

**The Hog's Head, Hogsmeade, Christmas Day 1996**

Christmas morning, Harry rolled out of bed, seduced by the mouth-watering smell of a fry-up. In the sitting room, Snape was setting the table as Aberforth smoked.

"Happy Christmas, Harry!" said Aberforth.

"Happy Christmas, sir. Professor." Harry nodded at Snape.

"Potter."

"Need'nee help?" Harry yawned. His T-shirt fluttered up as he scratched lazily at his stomach.

"No, just sit down."

Harry settled in his chair. Fang padded over to butt his head against the boy's thigh, angling for a scratch. Harry obliged then picked up his fork once Snape loaded his plate with food. The three wizards lingered for more than an hour over the large spread. They took their tea in front of the fireplace.

"What say we get at these gifts, eh?" Aberforth brandished his wand, clearing the coffee table of Harry's schoolbooks and Snape's journals. He flicked it again and the pile of gifts floated over to rest on the table.

In honor of his host, Harry ripped into the smallest one first. "Wow!" he exclaimed, uncovering a wristwatch so loaded with gadgets he had no problem expressing great surprise, despite what he overheard two nights ago. Then he frowned. "It's… it's Muggle," he said, his voice full of wonder.

"Potter!" Snape scolded.

"It's all right, Severus. He doesn't know... Harry, I've had dealings in the Muggle world for some time now. I can navigate around it as well as any Muggle."

"Oh?" said Harry, completely floored. He opened his mouth to let fly a barrage of questions, but snapped it shut when Snape hitched a brow. "Well, thanks, anyway," he told Aberforth, making plans to ask the old wizard about it later when Snape wasn't within earshot. Harry fastened the watch onto his wrist then turned to Snape. "Professor?" He gestured toward the beautifully wrapped package in front of the man.

For all the care Snape took to open the gift, he may as well have been in his lab, mixing a highly dangerous brew. He moved methodically, precisely, so as not to damage the wrapping paper any more than necessary. In that sense he had changed little from the thirteen year-old Aberforth had befriended. Snape's reaction to the gift Aberforth gave him that Christmas of 1973 had been troubling. The boy had sat, stunned, just staring at the package in wide-eyed disbelief. After fifteen odd minutes, Aberforth had reached to open it for him, figuring Snape would never do it. That was a mistake. Like a wild thing, Snape had snatched it up to clutch to his chest.

Taken aback, Aberforth recovered quickly to say, soothingly, "It's all right, Severus. You open it the way you want, hear?"

Snape's behavior was often strange, but this reaction made Aberforth all the more curious. The boy was exceptionally tight-lipped about his life away from Hogwarts. When he visited the pub, he holed himself up in the sitting room with his schoolbooks while Aberforth worked downstairs. The old wizard checked on him once every hour, bringing him a snack or something to drink, feeling that if he didn't the boy was sure to get lost in his books, ignoring food, drink, and fellowship. When Aberforth asked, Snape claimed that studying at the pub was more peaceful than at the castle. Aberforth figured the thin, defenseless-looking waif prime pickings for bullies, but Snape was far from cowardly, often giving as good as he got. That was how they had come to be acquainted one late autumn day after a gang of Gryffindors chased him through the village.

With nowhere to run save the surrounding wood, which held all matter of creatures that even Snape dared not rile, the boy dashed into the Hog's Head. The chase had commenced after he hit Sirius Black with a spell leagues beyond any third-year's ability – any third-year except Snape, that is. When Aberforth had asked for details, Snape had responded with a cold glare. At odd occasions, of his own volition, Snape would share something remotely personal, but Aberforth learned quickly not to pry: Snape worked from his own timetable and would not be rushed.

The same still held true as the man took his time sliding a long index finger along the seam where Spellotape held the wrapping paper together. When the paper fell flat to reveal a box, Snape opened it; his mouth fell open and he frowned. Bursting with curiosity, Harry craned his neck to peer over the box's edge. He was staggered to see a Pensieve. Snape looked up when Aberforth spoke.

"It was my father's," he said quietly. Snape thrust the box away, as if its contents were contagious. Aberforth gently pushed it back. "I found it," he said, "after he… well, I was six, Harry, when my father was sent to Azkaban."

"What?" Harry sputtered, wondering if he had heard the man correctly.

"It's a long, sordid story," Aberforth said, holding up a hand, "hardly suited for a day like today. Perhaps one day when you're older… Go on, open your next present."

Harry looked to Snape, who did not look a bit surprised – more because he had yet to take his eyes off the Penseive – but then, why would he be surprised? The men had been acquainted for years – they were sure to know unflattering things about one another. But this was more than unflattering. This was… this was, scandalous! A convict in the Dumbledore family? Nevertheless, Harry did as Aberforth had bid.

Once all the gifts had been opened, Snape rose without a word. He returned shortly, a book-sized package in hand.

"Happy Christmas," he said, his lips barely moving as he held it out to Harry. Harry gaped at the man stupidly. He had not expected to get anything, especially after all that Snape had already done for him. The whiskey-colored satchel he'd found the other day at Dervish and Banges was a suitable replacement for Snape's battered one, but it hardly equaled anything that Snape had sacrificed for him.

"Sir, you didn't have to –"

"I am well aware of that." Snape cleared his throat. "Well… I shall be… downstairs," he said, shuffling about, as if uncertain if he should stay or leave; Harry frowned when he started from the room.

"Wait!" He held out a hand. "'Til I open it?" Snape beheld Harry's anxious face and then nodded.

In contrast to his barbaric treatment of his other gifts, Harry followed Snape's genteel example with this one. But, he was nervous, and his fingers shook, so he ripped the plain white paper while peeling it back. Finally, he flattened it out to expose a distinctly weathered book.

He picked it up, turning it to and fro. Thin, delicate bark-colored leather surrounded the oldest, yellowest parchment he had ever seen. He eased the cover open to reveal the first page. Filling the sheet was a beautifully rendered drawing of an old wizard, his long hair and beard swept back by either a strong wind or spell. The wizard's robes flared out dramatically behind him, accentuating his long, lean frame. His wizened face was aimed toward a translucent ball in his right hand outstretched before him while his left hand bore a thick, gnarled staff standing nearly as tall as he. Above the wizard's head were the words, _Gwyn Dewindabaeth, _andbeneath his feet, _Myrddin._

Despite the drawing's two-dimensional constraint, the hawkish intensity in the wizard's eyes was chilling, yet Harry sensed nothing but good radiating from him. Like many centuries old wizards, this one drew a striking resemblance to Dumbledore, but Harry knew it could not be. Then it came to him; he frowned in disbelief.

"Is this...?"

"Yes," Snape said.

"Merlin!" Harry gasped, wide-eyed.

"Indeed." Snape replied, quietly amused and immensely pleased at Harry's response. "It is a book on white magic. I believe it shall prove a unique addition to your personal library."

Harry snorted softly as he brushed a finger along the wizarding world's preeminent wizard's face. "I don't have a personal library." _And certainly not one that includes a book written by Merlin_.

"Well, now you do."

"Yeah." Harry whispered. He would need Hermione to help him translate if from the Welsh, but he loved the book. Absolutely. "Thank you, sir."

"You're quite welcome, Potter," Snape said. Harry grimaced, feeling as though Snape had just lobbed a cow patty at him.

"What is it?" The man asked.

"I, um, well, sir, d'you think you could stop calling me 'Potter'? At least… while we're here?"

Snape frowned. "Why?"

"I just… It feels…" Harry flagged and began to clumsily gather his gifts. "Never mind."

"One moment." Snape reached to stay the boy's movements. "Answer my question, please."

Before last July, Harry had given little thought to Snape calling him 'Potter', after all that's who he was to his teachers (save Hagrid and Dumbledore) yet he had since come to dread the sound of it. He reckoned he should be used to it, but with the adoption pending, things were different; he was different. Six years he had been 'Potter', now though, he imagined that he and Snape had progressed, had moved beyond those bonds of protocol. In all honesty, since falling into Snape's memories the night of the adoption talk, anytime Snape addressed him, Harry had secretly craved hearing his name spoken in that calm, silken baritone, yet he remained, unfailingly, 'Potter.' It made him feel anonymous. He hated it.

Instead of explaining that, he said, "Really, it's nothing." He grabbed his gifts and pushed past the confused looking man to go to his room.

WO*

**The Hog's Head, Hogsmeade, Boxing Day 1996 **

Harry lounged on the sofa, flipping through the December issue of _Quidditch Illustrated_ while Snape and Aberforth engaged in a game of wizard chess at the dining table. As careful as they were with one another in life, Harry could not help but grin at the men's competitiveness when they played wizard chess; neither man gave the other quarter. Musical grunts and snorts of disgust, approval, or triumph served as accompaniment to those games. Snape's sounds were low and continuous, almost indiscernible, while Aberforth was more vocal. He had just uttered a growl of disgust when a voice came from the fire.

"Brother?"

"Albus..." The gray-haired wizard rasped.

"Is Severus near?"

"I'm here," Snape said. Fang grunted when the man leaned on him to get closer to the fire and Dumbledore's green face.

"May I trouble you to come to my office?" Dumbledore said.

"Why?" Harry demanded, throwing his magazine aside. Since June, trips to Dumbledore's office typically ended in grief, and he'd be damned if he would allow another incident like the one in August.

Snape shot Harry a hard look, then speaking back into the fire, he said, "Is it Draco?"

"I am afraid so. He is here with me."

"I'll be there shortly," Snape said. Dumbledore nodded then disappeared from the fire.

"Malfoy!?" Harry growled. "What's he doing at the castle? He left for the train with everyone else. I saw him!"

"Yes," Snape said, starting to pace. "Letting him return to Malfoy Manor was a mistake. The little fool! He _wanted_ to go back and –"

"Severus," Aberforth said quietly. "Go fetch the boy."

Snape looked to the old wizard and nodded slowly, as though entranced. "Yes," he said, then started from the room.

"You're bringing him here?!" Harry paled, looking as if he had just witnessed a beheading.

"Potter, he has nowhere to go."

"Doesn't he have other family… somewhere? Or why not stay at the castle? He's already there!"

"Everyone save Filch has gone from the castle, and he has no family prepared to take him in. Moreover, Lucius will certainly come looking for him, making him a danger to whomever he goes."

Harry flapped his arms and stared at Snape, aghast. "All the more reason for him not to be with us!"

"Potter!"

"I don't care!" Harry yelled. "Haven't you had enough of dealing with Death Ea –"

"_Potter!_ The matter is settled!"

In a fit of petulance, Harry threw himself back against the sofa, livid that Snape had decided such a thing without his input. He had wanted this Christmas to be theirs! He had wanted this time to be about family! Leave it to bloody Malfoy to muck up the works!

Snape scrubbed his hands over his face wearily. "Say what is on your mind. You look as if you're about to burst."

"I don't want him here!" Harry exploded, jumping to his feet. "I thought… after everything, we could celebrate the holidays together, me, you, and Aberforth."

"Potter, I told you that Draco might require more of my attention, yes?" Harry scowled his response. "This is one of those times," Snape said. Harry shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest. Snape walked to him and took the trembling boy by the shoulders. "I know what you're thinking... Things will not change simply because Draco will be here."

Damn Snape! Harry wanted to stay mad, wanted to spew his disapproval as hatefully, and forcefully as possible, but before he knew what he was about, he plastered himself to the man, pressing his face into the coarse lines of his robes, breathing in his distinctive scent. He was taking a chance, he knew, but he didn't care. When after a moment Snape gently hugged him back, Harry's muscles and joints relaxed to the point that he was glad Snape had his arms around him. Then he wondered why he didn't do this more often. The man seemed not to mind…

Thinking of Draco in his place, Harry said in a small voice: "Promise?"

"What?"

"Promise!" Harry tightened his arms around the man.

"Anything." Snape whispered gruffly, tightening his grip as well.

WO*

An hour later, the door opened. Fang pounced. Draco shrieked hoarsely and muttered something resembling, "Merlin, help me!" as he scrabbled to attach himself to the wall, desperate to escape the dog's tongue and massive paws.

Though Harry was thoroughly enjoying the show, he called to Fang when Snape cut his eyes at him. Obediently, the dog put all four paws on the floor, but then he sneezed, spraying Draco's fine navy cloak with mucus. He then stepped back to sit beside Harry, his tongue lolling happily as he eyed the Slytherin, looking supremely proud for having properly welcomed their guest.

Harry knew Fang had meant no malice, but he couldn't help grinning at the look on Draco's face: The Slytherin's lips had curled in on themselves as he looked down, ashen at the sight of the gloppy mess on his hip.

"You disgusting heap of bones!" he rasped and whipped his wand out. Harry's smile melted in an instant; he brought his right hand up just as quickly.

"HARRY!" Snape roared.

The boy jumped, startled. In his fright, fire convulsed out of the fireplace, causing flames to lap along the far edges of the coffee table, scorching some abandoned wrapping paper beneath it. Aberforth moved, so quickly he was a blur. He had his wand out and was chanting something Latinate. When the fire surged as if to consume him, he held up his hands, palms out, and pushed, corralling the flames back into the hearth.

He whipped about, furious. "Damn it, Severus! Don't frighten him like that!"

Snape frowned. "He must learn to –"

Aberforth slashed an impatient hand through the air. "Clearly he has more to learn, but it seems he's not the only one!"

Snape stared at Aberforth, indignant, and a little stung. Harry staggered back several steps, having never witnessed the two wizards raise their voices to one another in anger. He stopped only when the backs of his knees connected with a low side table. He frowned and glanced over at Draco who appeared alert, confused, exhausted, and suspicious, all in the same go. His wand, shaking noticeably, was aimed at the mess Fang had made. Harry lost his breath as clarity hit him with the force of a tidal wave: Draco had meant to clean his robes, not harm Fang. Looking back at Snape, Harry's mouth fell open, wounded by the man's infuriated expression and his own idiocy.

"I'm sorry!" he gasped. "I didn't mean –"

"Sit down!" Snape said, his lips drawn into a grim line. When Harry fell heavily onto the side table, Snape exhaled and pulled up a dining chair to sit in front of him.

"Really, sir, I'm sorry. I thought he was going to –"

"I know what you thought, now hush! I've something to tell you." Snape loosened the collar of his robes, then ran a hand through his hair. "Draco is here because Order members rescued him from Malfoy Manor."

"What?!" Harry exclaimed, his eyes skipping over to Draco and then back to Snape, incredulous.

Snape held up a hand. "Plans had been made for him to take the Mark tonight, but he managed to get word to his Ministry contact."

"Contact?"

"Percy Weasley."

"_Percy?!_"

"Potter, please!" Snape growled. Harry closed his mouth. "Since August, Draco has been acting as Percy's liaison. His information has led to the apprehension of a number of Death Eaters, including Rabastan, Crabbe Sr., and Gibbon. Several planned attacks on Muggles were thwarted on the strength of his information as well."

Draco was still locked in place by the door, as if that spot was the only safe harbor and the rest of the room a bog, thick with grindylows. Harry glanced at the boy, finding it hard to believe the privileged prig had been risking the wrath of his father _and_ the Dark Lord… but it did explain his queer behavior and appearance. Harry looked back to Snape.

"Is Percy all right?"

"He was just released from St. Mungo's into his parents' care. It's why it took so long to get back; Draco wanted to be certain he was okay."

"You went to the hospital without me?!"

"No." Snape dragged a hand through his hair again. "We waited for news in the headmaster's office. Percy will be bedbound for a few weeks, but Arthur says things look good."

"You said 'Order members.' Who else was there?"

"Percy was at his family's home at the time Draco called. His brothers joined him."

"_All_ of them?"

"The youngest Mr. Weasley was the exception. But, Potter," Snape said quickly when Harry opened his mouth, "this was not a spur of the moment operation. It has been in the works since early last month when Lucius first told Draco of the Dark Lord's plans for him. Draco informed Percy then, but it took time to organize things."

Last month. _November_. Harry thought back to that horrid day outside Snape's classroom. Was that the reason Draco had run to Snape? If so, then Harry could understand the boy's despair, but he still felt queasy that the majority of the Weasleys had risked their lives for _Malfoy_.

"I want to go the Burrow to see Percy – to see everyone."

Snape shook his head. "Molly asked me to tell not you to worry, they're all okay."

"But –"

"Potter," Snape said quietly, "let her take care of her family while I take care of mine."

Harry flushed as he looked into the man's eyes. "Yes, sir."

Aberforth cleared his throat. "Young Malfoy, you'll be bunking with Harry."

Draco and Harry's twin scowls made the old wizard chuckle softly.

WO*

Harry came awake with a start. The floor board near the hall table had squeaked. He fumbled his glasses on and touched the torch on the nightstand, highlighting Draco's empty bed. Yawning, Harry threw back his covers and shivered. Rubbing at the rash of goose pimples on his arms, he shuffled into the sitting room where he found the blond boy lying on the sofa wrapped in his clean navy cloak, staring at the dying embers of the fire.

"What are you doing?" said Harry, voice heavy with sleep, and a fair amount of disdain.

Draco startled and swiveled his head around. "Plotting for the Dark Lord." He drawled in that snooty, entitled way that made Harry want to poke him with a stick until he begged for mercy.

"No doubt." Harry mumbled to himself. Draco said nothing as Harry settled in the chair near the fire, pulling Aberforth's yellow and black afghan up over his legs.

"What do you want, Potter?" Draco said after a time. "Come to gloat? _Spy_? There's no need of that. I'm one of the good guys now. Or did you find it difficult to follow along with the big words Snape used?"

"You woke me up coming in here," Harry said, rolling his eyes, mentally cursing Percy's choice of Death Eater whistleblower. Though he trusted Snape implicitly, and the man had brought Malfoy here, the boy still inspired as much trust as a roomful of ill-tempered alligators.

The fire was nearly out. Surreptitiously, Harry stoked the waning embers with the flick of a finger – not that Draco would have noticed. The pale boy now seemed a world away, cocooned in his thoughts. Harry really hadn't come to gloat, or spy – he was just curious. He tried to imagine what it must be like to be betrayed so awfully, and by your father, of all people. Lucius's gross self-importance was hardly surprising, but that he had zero-conscience regarding his own son's well-being made Harry's skin crawl. "Remarkably corrupt", Percy had called them. Lucius's actions tonight certainly proved it.

Though certain he would regret it, Harry felt compelled to say something to the boy.

"I, uh – It must be tough… everything that's goin' on," he said. Draco's troubled expression instantly transformed into a snarl.

"I don't need your pity, Potter!" Draco's gray eyes flashed, repulsed at the very idea.

"Pity?" Harry yelped. "I was just trying to – You know what? Forget it!" Scowling, and doing his best to repress the urge to spell Draco toothless, Harry jerked the afghan up around his shoulders and settled deeper into the chair. Pity?! More like, morbid fascination of that creepy, evil family.

After another block of silence, Draco said, "So, you can perform wandless magic."

Harry couldn't tell if it was a question or a statement; he settled on taking it as an insult.

"Piss off, Malfoy!"

Draco gave an odd shrug, confined as he was by his cloak. "Some Slytherins would use that knowledge to their advantage – perhaps share it with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named." His voice was cool, detached, not particularly threatening, but Harry was in no mood for mind games or cryptic intimation.

"Snape'd have your bollocks if you lied about me to that lot."

Draco considered him a moment, then went back to staring at the fire. Harry shifted his eyes to glare at the orange glow, too, wondering. Draco wouldn't dare out him to his Housemates, would he? Though he probably hated Harry far more than he feared Snape, the Slytherin wasn't stupid; Harry had all but outed himself with the mishap with the fire, but _would_ Draco tell? Perhaps the better question was _could_ he tell?

Harry didn't know how things worked in Slytherin, but he felt certain Draco would no longer be Crown Prince once word of his rescue spread. A Malfoy, saved by the Order of the Phoenix? He'd be outcast! But then, might Lucius, embarrassed at the turn of events, spin it so that it was _he_ who banished Draco for defying his wishes as he was holding out hope that Draco would change his mind, come to his senses? Either way, Malfoy would be a pariah in his own House because really, when did that lot allow anyone to refuse anything?

No. Draco wouldn't tell. He couldn't, because if he did, Snape would raise ten kinds of Hell. As Harry sat delightfully pondering the many ways that Snape might punish Draco, he began to nod off. Sometime later he was awoken by a gentle tapping on his head.

"In the morning you'll regret having slept folded up like that," Snape said quietly. "Come, to bed with you."

With a huge yawn, Harry rose. When he tried to move forward he stumbled over the afghan and fell against Snape. Snape instantly put an arm around his shoulders to steady him.

"Happy Chri'ma, Charlie…" Harry murmured into Snape's armpit. Snape gave a soft huff of amusement, but then Harry's legs began to give out and he swept the boy into his arms. After depositing Harry into bed, Snape removed the wire rimmed glasses and wove his fingers through the boy's hair as Harry turned onto his stomach. Still bent over, Snape stiffened, spine prickling at the feeling of being watched; Draco stood in the doorway, his arms over his chest.

"Don't talk to me," he said. "I'm going to bed."

Snape quirked an eyebrow, knowing it would be senseless to try and engage Draco in conversation. Envy was etched so deeply in the young Slytherin's expression that Snape's only response was a curt nod before leaving the room.

WO*

**The Hog's Head, Hogsmeade, December 1996**

Draco's bed was empty when Harry woke the next morning. He had a fleeting, but glorious vision of the Slytherin creeping down the pub's darkened stairs and out the door, on the run now. The downside to that little scenario was that if Draco was gone, Snape would be hot on his heels. The man would never leave the boy to fend for himself. On that depressing note, Harry pulled on some heavy socks and wrapped himself in a blanket. He padded into the sitting room where he found Aberforth smoking in front of the fire, perusing an early edition of the _Prophet_.

"Mornin'," Harry said.

"_Afternoon_, lad."

"Oh… Er, where's the professor?"

"He took the Malfoy boy out for a bit." Harry's eyes widened with alarm and Aberforth said: "Clever glamour Severus cooked up for them. They'll be fine." Despite the old wizard's confident tone, Harry was unconvinced. "Harry, Severus has tangled with the worst sort many a time and come out ahead."

Yes, but it taken only _one_ time for Snape to be captured and tortured. Opportunistic wizards eager to gain favor with Voldemort were dying to get their hands on Snape, and now that they were in all probability hunting Draco as well, Harry did not think his fear irrational in the least.

_Damn Draco._ _Snape wouldn't be out if not for him!_ _Bleeding, bloody, bubble-headed… baboon-faced –_

Just as he was working up some more 'begins-with-'b'' epithets, the door opened. Draco entered first, his pale cheeks flushed with cold, his arms laden with packages from Gladrags. Following behind him, Snape closed the door. As he pulled off his gloves and heavy cloak, he observed Harry's frightened expression.

"Potter?"

In a fair repeat of the day before, Harry rushed to the man and threw his arms around him.

"I'm fine," Snape said softly, surprised. In response, he gave Harry a quick squeeze and ran a gentle hand over his head. After a moment, Harry let go. Blushing, he turned to face Draco. Though his gray eyes looked a bit clearer and less haunted than the night before, dark circles ringed the flesh above and below his pale lashes and Harry knew the boy had not slept.

"You just getting up?" Draco asked, taking Harry in from head to toe.

"Yeah… What of it?" Harry said tightly, put off by the familiarity of the question. They were not friends.

Snape stiffened beside Harry, but kept quiet. Draco's eyes flicked up to him, as if to say 'I told you so', then back to Harry. He shook his head and sneered. "Nothing, Potter," he said, but his voice was still marred by a raspiness Harry had assumed to be the result of fatigue. He wondered if Snape had dosed the boy with a potion to ease it; he then wondered if anything else might have required a potion.

"I'm going to go put my things away," Draco said, directing his words at Snape.

Harry waited until he heard the door to his room close before speaking. "Sorry 'bout that," he said.

"I'm not the one deserving of your apology."

Harry scowled. "I meant for the, uh, the hug…" he mumbled, embarrassed.

"Ah… It's quite all right." Snape crossed the room to settle on the sofa. He laid his head back, closing his eyes.

"Where'd you go?"

"We walked round the village. I wanted to speak with Draco privately, clear up a few things."

"Oh…" Harry wanted desperately to pry, but he knew the man would not share. "Um, well, 'm glad you're back."

Snape raised his head, his dark eyes pinning Harry where he stood. Harry recognized that look: It was the look Snape used when he wanted Harry to be deadly clear on what he was saying.

"It was not my intent to frighten you," the man said.

"…I know."

"I would never leave you without a good reason."

"I know."

WO*


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N:** Apologies to everyone who has/had been reading 'What's Owed' since I first posted it back in June '09. I was horrified to have killed it, but I also lost all of the kind reviews I'd received, and lists of those who had 'favorited' or 'alerted' the story. For those of you who are new to the story, welcome; for those of you who have managed to find the story after having read it before, I'm glad you're back. A couple words of warning, though: have some snacks prepared, and strap in. Long chapter ahead… ~Ruth 7019

Disclaimer: JK Rowling's characters.

**Gryffindor Tower, Hogwarts, January 1997 (05)**

After a quick, "Bye!" to Snape at the bottom of the staircase, Harry raced up the stairs, two at a time, until he reached the Fat Lady. Stepping inside, the common room appeared empty at first glance, but moving further in, he spotted Hermione, Ron, Luna, Neville, and Ginny clustered together in the corner by the window. They were all smiling, which Harry thought a good sign, but he wouldn't be satisfied until he heard from Ron that Percy was okay. Fang woofed, getting the group's attention.

"Harry!" Ron shot to his feet to greet the boy, but Hermione was faster, flying across the room to Harry as if she had sprouted wings.

Harry met her halfway. He took her face in his hands and kissed her softly. "Missed you."

"You'd better..."she whispered, then let him kiss her again. After a moment, Ron cleared his throat in an exaggerated way, making Harry laugh. He then gave a grunt of surprise when the redhead gripped him in a tight hug. Grinning at the uncharacteristic display of affection Harry thumped him on the back in response.

"Percy?" he said when Ron pulled back.

Ron scowled and flapped a hand in disgust. "That old fraud? He's fine! Bossin' everyone about, takin' advantage of his 'injury' – which he got after tripping over his own two left feet trying to dodge a hex. Scrawny klutz! He's lucky_I_ didn't hex him! I'm glad to be back just to get away from him!"

"Oh, Ron, he wasn't that bad," Ginny said, lips curled in a mischievous smirk as she scratched Fang's belly.

"That prat had me writing out his reports instead of charming the damn quill to do it for him! As much as he carps on about how my handwriting looks like a troll did it? He was just doin' it to get my goat!"

"Baaaaa!"

"Oh shut it, Harry!" Ron grumbled. He served up a half-hearted swing at the back of Harry's head, but Harry ducked, leaving him to collect a handful of air. On a wave of laughter, the redhead resumed his seat on the sofa, then wrapped an arm around Luna who looked, for lack of a better word, luminescent.

Dean joined them half an hour later and Ginny perched herself on his lap, laughing at something Neville said. Seamus wasn't long to follow after Dean, grumbling about Parvati never letting Padma out of her sight for longer than a minute when he was around. Eventually more students began pouring in, filling the common room with squealed greetings and excited exchanges of holiday details, but Harry and his group kept to themselves.

Before long, the hour tolled midnight. Seamus and Neville went up to their dorm; Dean escorted Ginny the short distance to the stairs leading to the girls' dorm; Harry and Hermione remained cuddled up on the sofa. They waved to Ron as he left to walk Luna to Ravenclaw. She was out past curfew, but having a boyfriend who was Prefect had its advantages.

*WO

**Greenhouse 3, Hogwarts, January 1997 (09)**

When Snape showed up in Herbology on Thursday, Harry's heart danced a clumsy jig. With a nod at Professor Sprout, Snape gestured for Harry to follow him outside.

"When Sprout dismisses class, go to the headmaster's office," Snape said.

"Was it approved?"

"It appears so, but I must go to the Ministry to finalize things."

"Alone? Don't I get to go?"

"No."

"But –"

"The headmaster is accompanying me."

"_What?_ After all the –"

Snape held up a hand. "I do not wish to be late. I shouldn't be more than an hour." He turned to go, but something in Harry's expression compelled him to quickly run a hand over the boy's head. Harry closed his eyes at the touch. When he opened them, Snape was gone. Harry sighed. The wait was going to be murder, but he had been without a parent since he was a year old. How bad could one more hour be?

*WO

**Dumbledore's Office, Hogwarts, January 1997 (09)**

Two and half hours later, Harry's leg jounced about as if tethered to a mindless bit of invisible string. No more than five minutes after entering Dumbledore's office, he'd been impatient for Snape to return. Five minutes beyond that, he had firecalled Aberforth, eager to share the news that Snape had gone to finalize the adoption. Unsurprisingly, the old wizard already knew; he had chuckled at Harry's peeved expression.

"Why am I the last one to know?"

"Ah, Harry, Severus only just found out himself. He alerted me because he knew you'd call and he wanted to be sure that I was here."

"Oh," Harry said softly. When he asked Aberforth if he knew why the headmaster had decided to accompany Snape to the Ministry, the man said: "My brother and I had us a conversation."

"What'd you say to him?" Harry said, curious at what influence Aberforth could have over his elder brother.

Aberforth hesitated. "Albus is a great wizard, but he can rarely see beyond the strategic workings of his mind, especially where you're concerned."

"Well, yeah, but how did you con –"

Aberforth interrupted, saying, "Perhaps we should free up the fire in case Severus is trying to get through, eh?" He was right of course, but Harry sensed the man was being deliberately evasive. "Goodnight, lad."

"…G'night."

Harry backed out of the green flames, then stood and began to pace. Aberforth's reticence got him thinking about their conversation the night before he, Snape, and Draco left for the castle. The old wizard had asked him downstairs to the pub where he had set him up with a frosty butterbeer and a wooden bowl full of peanuts. He then poured a cup of tea for himself. In that instant, it struck Harry that in all the time he had spent in Aberforth's company he had never witnessed the man drink anything stronger than tea, despite being surrounded by liquor day in and day out. Even Snape took the occasional nip of Ogden's Old Firewhisky.

"Do you recall what I said to you the night Severus went to meet with my brother?" Aberforth had said, cutting into Harry's thoughts.

Harry crinkled his brow, thinking back to last August. "...That we're alike?"

"Yes," Aberforth said. "What I meant by that, Harry is that you love hard. So does Severus."

With his fist perched to toss a palmful of peanuts into his mouth, Harry froze.

"I tell you this because you worry overmuch about the Malfoy boy."

Harry blinked. Was he _that_ transparent? When Draco arrived, Harry had had no desire to engage the boy and had exchanged only a handful of words with him; Draco had clearly felt the same, saying little or nothing to Harry. And though he was perfectly polite to Aberforth, it was clear he preferred Snape's company. His gray eyes trailed the man wherever he went and his body only seemed to become pliable when Snape talked to him; otherwise he sat stiff as a board and just as silent.

Harry had found the boy's lack of complaint curious, but said nothing about it, chalking it up to the trauma of the rescue. Looking at the situation objectively – which was _not _easy – it was obvious that Malfoy was simply grateful to be alive and free of a wretched situation. Harry understood and he left the boy alone, but he could hardly deny the frustrating truth of Aberforth's words – particularly because Harry didn't trust Malfoy _not_ to try to drive a wedge between him and Snape. Still, at Aberforth's expectant expression, he'd said: "I'll keep it in mind." Aberforth nodded and sipped at his tea.

"Sir? Did the professor ask you to be our witness for the adoption?"

Strangely, tension traveled through the old wizard, as if he had touched a live wire. He lowered his tea cup. "Yes, lad, he did, but I declined."

"What? Why?"

Aberforth smiled, a wooden, emotionless tic. He picked up his teacup again, but it shook terribly, sloshing the liquid about until it escaped over the cup's lip, scalding the old wizard's hand. He hissed and set the cup down with a clatter.

"Sir?" Concerned, Harry reached for Aberforth's hand, but the man waved him away.

"I would have done it if I could, Harry," he said, picking up a towel to dry his hand, "but those Ministry types, they don't take kindly to my sort, if you know what I mean."

Harry didn't, but he didn't dare grill the man about it. Aberforth wanted to be there. That was enough.

But now, three hours into waiting, Harry was overcome with a stab of loneliness, and a tinge of fear. Had something happened? As if reading Harry's thoughts, Fang rose from his spot near Dumbledore's desk. He padded over and placed his head on the boy's leg, stilling it. He looked up, those soulful, deep brown eyes, liquid with calm. Grateful, Harry leaned forward to lay his forehead against the dog's large, square one. Just as he closed his eyes, the fireplace blazed green and Snape materialized, stepping smoothly out of the flames. Harry jumped up. Fang barked, his tail whipping hard against Harry's leg.

"Well?" Harry said, but all he heard was a hollow echo: _Well…well…well…_ His heartbeat pounding solidly in his ears enhanced the effect. "WELL!" He tried again.

"I heard you the first time," said Snape, quirking an eyebrow as he stepped forward. He held out a golden sheet of parchment.

Immobilized with disbelief, Harry could only stare at it. Then Fang sat down. Without the rhythmic thump of the dog's tail against his leg, Harry came to his senses. Hand trembling, he took the sheet from Snape and read the bold black script.

**Ministry of Magic, London**

**Department of Family Services**

**Certificate of Adoption **

**Harry James Potter**

**Has been formally adopted**

**Into the Snape family by the Father**

**Severus Snape**

**And is entitled to all the rights and privileges thereto as his Child**

**On this 9th day of January 1997**

**As certified by**

**_Rufus Scrimgeour, Minister of Magic_**

**Witness**

**_Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Headmaster, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_**

Harry reread it, marveling at the sight of his name coupled with Snape's. _Father._ _Child. _Still as stone he stared at it for several minutes until Snape touched him on the shoulder.

"Potter?"

Harry looked up, green eyes sparkling with wonder. "This is it?" He whispered. Snape nodded. "Oh, g-good." Harry chuckled with nervous relief.

Then with all the feathery lightness of a ten tonne weight, Uncertainty set in, pressing so heavily on Harry's heart he could scarcely catch his breath. It then took a moment – Uncertainty did – to coolly remind Harry he already had a father and a mother. They were long dead, yes, but Lily and James Potter did not cease being his parents any more than he ceased being their son – _blood_ sanctioned that connection. Then Ron's voice chimed in, again questioning whether James and Lily would approve of Snape adopting Harry. Harry hadn't wanted to admit it at the time, but Ron's misgivings were nothing he'd not already considered. It was hardly a secret that Snape had not been on friendly terms with James and Lily at the time of their deaths – point of fact, he'd _never _been on friendly terms with James.

Latching onto that blatant bit of irony, Uncertainty went for the emotional jugular: This adoption dishonored Lily and James's memory, diminished their brave sacrifice; Harry had been too hasty, too eager – too damn _desperate_ to belong to someone else; his parents had been taken from him, Sirius had been taken from him, and the Dursleys had been killed because of him – for all intents and purposes, he'd been on his own since the day Dumbledore left him on the Dursleys' stoop. So why now? Why _Snape_?

_Why _not_Snape?_ Harry countered angrily. Other than his parents, Snape had done more for him than anyone.

But Uncertainty was on a roll. It reared up to needle Harry once again, but he had had enough. He gave it a swift kick in the arse, making room for a clear thought, the thought that being looked upon as someone's child, someone in the flesh – not a romanticized, secondhand account of his father's goodness or a fleeting, horrifying dream-snippet of his mother dying – made Harry feel special. Ever uncomfortable with the 'special' label the wizarding world afforded him, he looked upon the specialness of being Snape's charge as different because he had a say in it; his distinctiveness in the wizarding world had been no more his choice than had having black, untidy hair.

"Potter?"

Still staring at the parchment, Harry stumbled back into the chair he had occupied earlier.

"_Potter?_" Snape repeated. He pulled up a chair to sit in front of Harry, knee to knee, then wrapped his hands around Harry's wrists, easing them down to rest on his legs.

"I don't know…" Harry whispered. "I don't know why I'm so scared about it all of a sudden."

"Yes you do," Snape said in that quiet tone that always made Harry want to confess his every fell deed. After a few breaths, he did.

"I feel like I'm… pissing on my parents' memory, like I'm denying them."

There! He'd said it. Admitted he was traitor to his own blood – a blood traitor in the worst sense because of his eagerness to belong to someone else.

Though most of the portraits would normally be napping at this hour, the unfolding drama was far too gripping to ignore. Dilys Derwent whipped out a lacy handkerchief from her ample bosom and noisily blew her nose; Phineas Nigellus Black tutted and stalked back and forth across his painting's background muttering about "Slytherins continuing to be corrupted by Gryffindor foolishness"; Armando Dippet simply nodded and winked approvingly, his ear horn angled intrusively toward the action.

At length Snape released Harry's wrists and leaned back in his chair. He shifted to take up his usual pose of contemplation: elegantly crossed legs, elbows at rest on the arms of the chair, long fingers tented beneath his chin. Minutes passed before he spoke. To Harry, he looked as if he wanted to say one thing, but settled on another.

"Potter, I knew Lily."

"I know."

"No, I knew her _before_ coming to Hogwarts."

Harry's eyes widened. "Really?"

"We were nine. I told her she was a witch..."

A broad grin spread across Harry's face as he pictured a nine year-old Snape and Lily, but it quickly flagged. "…That's why she was so mad at you that day by the lake," he said.

"Yes." Snape scrubbed a hand over his face. "That day was… an unfortunate bit of timing on both our parts. Me stumbling into your father and his cronies, and Lily – I couldn't have imagined a more mortifying predicament. I took it out on her. When I tried to apologize, she gave me rather an earful about friendship and how she could forgive what I said, but that we could never again be friends, at least not so long as I was meeting with Lucius Malfoy. I wasn't surprised that she knew. By that point, it was common knowledge, but I was hardly willing to give up what I thought was my ticket out of a world that didn't appreciate me and entrée into one that did." Snape sighed. He looked exhausted. "Our last conversation… she was angry. Her mother had shipped her grandmother off to a rest home. She died shortly after arriving. Lily was devastated. She told me, 'when I have my own family_,_ I'll die before I let anything separate us.'"

Harry's eyes pooled with tears. That he knew less about his parents than their childhood nemesis was not making him feel any better. With a long finger Snape tilted Harry's chin until their eyes met.

"Potter, Lily gave her life for you. Until you told me… I never knew that she placed herself between you and the Dark Lord."

"She didn't have to! He told her to -"

"You believe she made a choice?" Snape interrupted sharply. Harry nodded. In counterpoint, Snape shook his head. "Impossible."

"What do you mean?" Harry ran his sleeve under his nose.

"Any parent worth their salt –" Snape fell silent a moment. "What I mean to say Potter, is that she was your mother, and after all these months… I can tell you that, for her, there was no choice. _Not_ because the Dark Lord demanded it, but because she possessed a thing so powerful, that even after…" Snape closed his eyes and gripped his knees, "even after her death it repulsed the Killing Curse aimed at you."

"I know, 'love.'" Harry rolled his eyes, unimpressed.

"_Yes_, and after having sacrificed herself that way, how could she ever begrudge you a place with someone who... who wishes to look after you? I daresay, even a stand-in would be preferable to you being alone."

"You're no stand-in!" Harry blurted, frowning at the man. Snape jerked as if goosed; his cheeks colored. "Well, you're not! That was the Dursleys! And they did a piss poor job at it, too!" Harry's hands shook, rattling the parchment as he gripped it tightly. "You don't think of yourself that way, do you? _Do you?_"

"I've never been one to live by presumption," Snape said quietly, "but, it does me well to hear you express your feelings on the matter."

Now it was Harry's turn to blush. Indicating the parchment he asked, "Where's the headmaster?"

"At the Hog's Head. He wanted to allow us some time together."

"Oh. Well, that was good of him."

"Yes, quite." Snape stood.

Harry joined him, cradling the adoption parchment to his chest. "Why'd he go with you instead of Aberforth?"

"You would have to ask them."

"I asked Aberforth the night before we left the pub. He said people at the Ministry didn't like him."

Snape growled softly. "Tiny-minded tyrants. They do have a certain aversion to him, yes."

"Why?"

"You would –"

"– have to ask him," Harry finished with a sly grin, then he looked at Snape, serious. "It's… it's 'cause he drinks, or he used to, isn't it?"

Snape hesitated. "It's not my secret to tell... Come," he said before Harry could open his mouth. "Let's go home."

*WO

**Greenhouse 3, Hogwarts, February 1997 (10)**

Run-ins with disgruntled Slytherins increased two-fold after the adoption, but Snape, as Slytherin's Head (and Harry's official guardian) acted accordingly. Just as before the adoption, he doled out punishments fairly, but as the incidences increased, so did his creativity, especially as picking on Harry was not their only aim.

One week, a select number of Slytherin's upper forms skived off Potions in protest of Snape's 'Gryffindor-loving attitude.' But by Monday of the following week, those who had participated in the 'sit-out' were in attendance at every class. How Snape managed it was a mystery, but it was the truants' duties _outside_ of class that made Harry chuckle: They had been charged with helping Charlie maintain the castle's composts, which involved shoveling and hauling Thestral droppings – without magic. They also had to help Professor Sprout muck out the greenhouses daily – without magic.

For two weeks, dinnertime heralded a group of filth-covered Slytherins dragging into the Great Hall to the loud hoots and catcalls of students who thought the 'rebels' comeuppance long overdue. That the Slytherin Head had enforced said comeuppance made it all the more sweet.

But, as usual, one Slytherin in particular drew Ron's attention: Malfoy. How did he, Ron wondered aloud, manage to remain above the fray? The boy was close to Snape – always had been – so taking part in his Housemates' rabblerousing would not appeal to him, but how, after that rescue, was he able to continue living in Slytherin?

"They must know that he didn't want to take the Mark, that my brothers got him away before he could, right?"

"Dunno," Harry said with a careless shrug.

In truth, he had given little thought to Malfoy's plight in Slytherin since returning to the castle. He felt that if anyone could handle that lot, Malfoy, Slytherin's resident royalty, could. _But not anymore_. Ron was right. Malfoy was rarely surrounded by his full court anymore. Sure, Blaise Zabini, Theodore Nott, and Pansy Parkinson still trailed him like puppies, but a shifting in that House's hierarchy was clear, one of the more notable changes being Gregory Goyle who traveled along the fringes now. His expression and actions were tentative as he divided his time between Draco's group and Malcolm Baddock's growing posse which included Vincent Crabbe, and possibly accounted for Goyle's difficulties in choosing a side.

"He hasn't had a thing to say to you, at all?" Ron said, interrupting Harry's thoughts.

"Who?"

"Malfoy, you dolt!"

Harry's upper lip curled. "Why should he?"

"You spent Christmas with the little git!"

"No, I didn't!" Harry clarified forcefully. "He came the day _after_." Harry glanced over at the blond boy who was pruning a cluster of belladonna with rather a lot of zeal. "I couldn't imagine him being there Christmas Day."

*WO

Tearing down the corridor to make it to Transfiguration on time, Harry skidded to a halt when someone called his name. Turning, he groaned to see the last person he wanted to set eyes on striding to catch up to him.

"What do you want, Malfoy?"

"I heard you and Weaselbe in Herbology. It wasn't my idea to wreck your holiday." Harry rolled his eyes and started away. Draco called after him. "If you think I wouldn't have rather spent Christmas anywhere else than with you, you're mad!"

"Whatever Malfoy, I'm late for class."

Draco stomped after Harry. "I don't know why I'm bothering! You're ridiculous!"

Harry stopped. "Me, ridiculous? Hark who's talking! He-who-has-nowhere-to-call-home!"

"Why you Half-blooded twat!" Draco cursed, then angled his wand at Harry's neck. Harry snorted softly, offering up a tiny provoking grin as he stepped in close, bringing his skin into contact with the tip of Draco's wand. Draco's eyes narrowed. "You think I won't do it?" he said. "You think just because you have a stupid sheet of parchment saying you're Snape's son that I won't hurt you? You think he won't see _my_ side of things?"

Harry laughed, but it came out garbled when Draco jabbed his wand against his Adam's apple.

"Here, now!" McGonagall. The angry click-clack of her boot heels echoed along the corridor as she approached. "What's this about?"

"Potter, being his predictably bile-inducing self!" Draco sneered.

"Put that away, Mr. Malfoy!" McGonagall barked, noting the red mark on Harry's neck. When Draco didn't move, she yanked his wrist down to his side. He flinched when she raised her wand, but she made only to dispatch her Patronus: a silvery-white unicorn. It quickly galloped down the corridor out of sight.

"I suppose dueling like common Muggle thugs in the corridor trumps getting to class on time?" she said.

"I was on my way when Malfoy stopped me," Harry said.

"I didn't force you to talk to me, you pea-brained Gryffindor!"

"Yeah, well some of us have manners, you sack of sh –"

"Stop this nonsense!" McGonagall cried. Harry and Draco were chest to chest, scuffling to gain the upper hand. McGonagall shot out her arm to haul Harry to her side; she shoved Draco back with the other.

"Don't touch me!" he snarled. He curled his arms protectively across his chest and cast Harry and McGonagall a rather profane look before turning his back on them.

Just then a silvery-white doe cantered down the corridor to stand before McGonagall. It spoke and Harry was struck dumb by the bizarreness of Snape's voice issuing from it.

"Professor, please excuse Potter from Transfiguration, to be made up in a detention at a later date. Kindly send both boys to my quarters, straight away." The doe faded from sight.

"Off with you, then," McGonagall said. "Potter, you and I shall discuss your detention after dinner, understood?"

"Yes, ma'am," Harry said. With a dejected sigh, he turned to plod off toward the dungeons at Draco's heels.

Snape was waiting at the door when they arrived. "Sitting room," he said, lips thinned in aggravation.

Harry plopped down on the sofa. Draco followed suit at the opposite end, molding himself around the sofa's arm.

"The two of you at each other's throats is tiresome," Snape said. "I would have thought you'd learned a thing or two after the stay in Hogsmeade. Silly me. Dare I ask why you were arguing?"

Silent seconds ticked by as Draco sulked and Harry scowled.

Snape stepped around to sit on the coffee table, facing the boys. "_One_ of you, tell me what happened."

Snape wasn't angry, Harry judged, but he was irritated and anger would be quick to follow if either he or Draco didn't speak up. Harry opened his mouth.

"I said some... inappropriate things," said Draco. Harry gaped, floored.

"Potter?" Snape's black eyes came to rest on him, expectant. Harry cast another disbelieving glance over at Draco; Snape cleared his throat.

"I might'a been a bit rude." Harry mumbled as though his jaw hurt. Draco snorted, but it was cut short by a look from Snape. _Ha!_ Harry thought, then he coughed into his fist, except it sounded a lot like, "Jackass!" Crude and childish, perhaps, but, then he _was_ Snape's child_._

"Potter!" Snape growled.

Harry's lips curled into an annoyed pout. "Well, he irritates me!"

"_Well_…" Snape rocked back to eye them both imperiously. "Get over it! Half the wizarding world would sell their nuts to get hold of the both of you. You might – _might_ – begin to consider a way to work together. If not, heed me when I say that one more incident like this, you'll be in detention together, everyday, for the rest of term!"

He stood and left the room, ignoring their slack-jawed expressions.

*WO

**The Main Entrance Hall, Hogwarts, February 1997 (14)**

Valentine's Day fell on a Friday, but on Monday, Professor Dumbledore declared a Hogsmeade weekend, "In honor of love in its many guises." He even canceled Friday's afternoon classes, announcing that there would be an informal gathering in the Great Hall once everyone returned from the village.

"There will not be a feast," he said, with a cryptic smile, "but dinner will not be served as usual."

While everyone speculated wildly about what Dumbledore might have planned, Harry plotted ways to get Snape to let him make the trip to Hogsmeade. Reports of Muggles and wizards going missing in other parts of the country continued, but there had been no attacks or even rumors of ill-doings in the tiny village. But, of course, this was lost on Snape, as well as the fact that Dumbledore had continued to allow the trips. The man had firmly forbidden Harry to go when the first trip was made in October, and the same held in November. At the time, Ron had pointedly, and rather unkindly, mentioned that Snape had no right to forbid Harry to do anything, but Harry had relented anyway. He knew that Snape hadn't forbid him from going as punishment or as a show of control; he'd done it because he honestly worried about Harry, and Harry liked that.

Despite the opportunity to go and enjoy themselves Ron and Hermione had chosen to remain at the castle to keep him company. Harry had been grateful at the time, but he refused to be the reason for them not going this weekend. As such, he filled the next three days with massive amounts of begging, toddler-like tantrums, and slick, guilt-inducing negotiating that would have made a Slytherin proud – it did in fact garner a raised, appraising black eyebrow.

Finally, irritated with Harry's commitment to annoy him to death, Snape caved, but he threw a Malfoy-sized spanner in the works: Harry could go, provided he traveled with a 'mixed' group. Though he would have rather run starkers through Hogwarts' corridors than spend a forced afternoon with Malfoy, Harry feared Snape would use that as an excuse to confine him to the castle. As it was, the man watched him like a hawk all week, sniffing about for a hint of anything that could justify revoking his permission. Harry managed it all just fine, but on Thursday, Snape had the evil gall to pair him with Draco in Potions. Luckily, Draco was just as crazed to get free of the castle as Harry because, thanks to Snape, he had not made the previous trips either. Thus it was in tacit agreement that the boys did their assignment as bid, incident-free.

When Friday rolled around, Snape had no excuse to keep either one from making the trip.

*WO

After lunch, Harry streaked off to the dungeons to grab his things. Back at the castle's entrance he paced, impatient for the others to come down. Snape, speaking with Charlie and McGonagall a ways up the corridor, begged off from them and approached Harry.

"How many are in your group?"

"Eight. Me, Hermione, Ron, Luna, Neville, Ginny, Dean, and Seamus." Like an auctioneer, Harry rambled off the names quickly, as if Snape would somehow miss hearing 'Malfoy.' The man hitched an eyebrow. Harry _just_ managed not to roll his eyes. "Malfoy's welcome to join us, sir, but I doubt he'd only want Gryffindors for company."

"Invite another Slytherin."

Harry nearly strangled on a sharp inhale. "_Who_? None of 'em can stand us! And the feeling's mutual!"

"Make an effort."

Harry grimaced and wondered why Snape didn't just ask him to jab himself in the eye with a red hot poker. When the man's eyebrow skyrocketed, Harry managed to ground out, "Yes, sir."

As he schemed for a way to enjoy Hogsmeade despite the presence of a few snotty Slytherins, Draco, Blaise Zabini, Theodore Nott, and Pansy Parkinson came strolling up the corridor. _Great, a bloody gang of them!_

"Harry?" A mittened hand enveloped his and he turned to find Hermione, so well bundled up, the only things exposed were her eyes, nose, and rosy upper lip. "Professor." As Snape nodded a greeting, she regarded the approaching Slytherins curiously.

"Where's everyone else?" Harry asked.

"Neville's in the Owlery waiting on an owl from his grandmother. He should be along shortly. Ron and Luna are already outside with Ginny, Dean and Seamus, so we should go."

"All right… but I have to wait for Malfoy." Harry's tone suggested he'd rather feed a starving Thestral with his teeth.

"Professor," came Malfoy's cultured tenor.

"Draco." Snape nodded his approval at sight of the other Slytherins. They nodded back, each speaking a respectful greeting. "Be vigilant. All of you," he said, turning to include Harry and Hermione.

"Yes, sir," Draco and Harry said together. They looked at each other and scowled.

"Go," said Snape, looking both amused and deeply worried. "Harry…" he said softly.

"We'll be careful," Harry said, with a small, encouraging smile. He took Hermione's hand and they started for the entrance. Draco and the others fell into step several paces back.

"'Bout time!" Ron said, once Harry and Hermione appeared. "It's cold enough to freeze Umbridge's tit –"

"Ron!" cried Hermione.

"Well, what took you lot so long? Dean, Ginny and Seamus got tired of waiting."

"The village will still be there, Ron. And if you're that cold, you should've come back inside!"

When Ron opened his mouth in rebuttal, Harry said, "Um, do you two mind?"

"Well done, Harry," said Luna, as Draco and the other Slytherins emerged.

"I don't suppose we need to stick together all the time, Potter… or at all," Draco said dismissively as he and his group continued down the steps.

"Fine…" said Harry, and the tension in his shoulders eased by half. _Maybe this won't be so horrible after all_, he thought, then Ron opened his mouth.

"What, now we have to spend the afternoon with this son-of-a-Death Eater?"

All the Slytherins, save Draco, paused to cast withering glances at the redhead.

"Blimey! Nothin' to say, Malfoy?" Ron continued. "Not so quick-witted without your murdering father or your uppity, soulless mother about to defend you, eh?"

Draco stopped, his body stiffening to the point he might well have been struck with _Petrificus Totalus._

Blaise rounded on Ron, his caramel colored skin red with fury. "As always Weasley, your stunning lack of intellect rivals your repulsive family's lack of Sickles!"

"Sod off, Zabini! I wasn't even talking to you!" Ron whipped out his wand.

"Oy!" Harry yelled, grabbing Ron's arm. He threw up a hand up to ward off Blaise who had started back up the steps, his wand out as well. "Lay off!" Harry said to Ron.

"Why? Because Snape said so? He's not _my_ guardian! I'll say what I like, to whomever I like, _whenever_ I like!" He yelled that last bit at the Slytherins.

"Ronald, you're on your way to ruining a perfectly charming day, please don't," said Luna, coming to stand in front of him.

Ron inhaled sharply and looked down at her. "_Me?_ Well, who bloody asked them to come in the first bloody place?"

"I did… sort of," Harry said, beginning to wonder if they would even make it to the gates.

"Keep a bloody lead on your mad dog, Potter!" Theo's deep voice rumbled out of his barrel chest.

"Piss off, Nott!" Harry snarled. "Look, why don't you all just go on? Just go!"

"Come on," Draco said quietly.

Harry waited until the Slytherins reached the bottom of the stairs. He exhaled and banged a fist lightly against Ron's chest. "Okay, mate?"

"'M fine," Ron said, glaring at the departing Slytherins' backs, "but don't expect me to be nice to any of that lot." He sheathed his wand and Luna seized the opportunity to start down the steps, tugging the grumbling redhead after her.

Harry rubbed his forehead and sighed, wondering if the trip was going to be worth the grief. He didn't like Draco, never would, but he knew Ron's words must have burned like fire, especially in light of all that Lucius had done. In an effort to lighten the moment, Hermione took his arm and melded her body as close to his as their winter gear would allow. She gently kissed his lips, and said, "Today will be great, you'll see."

*WO

They caught up to Ron and Luna at the gate and the quartet zipped along the lane into Hogsmeade, eager to be out of the biting wind tunneling up the road. Just as they set foot onto the village's High Street, fat snowflakes began to fall fast and thick. Luna stopped and stuck out her tongue to catch some. When she began to spin around, arms wide, Ron laughed and caught her up in his arms to spin her around faster, making her squeal with delight.

On their way again, they passed by the Three Broomsticks. To Ron's chagrin, Harry was adamant about going to the Hog's Head. He wanted to see Aberforth, and he was anxious to introduce his friends to the old wizard properly. Last year, when they had met at the pub for the nerve-wracking assembly for students interested in conducting covert Dark Arts training sessions right under Umbridge's nose, no one had been looking to cozy up to the weird barkeep, so Harry wanted them to meet the Aberforth he had come to know. Hermione and Luna agreed readily enough, but when Ron grumbled unhappily, Luna threw herself into his arms, kissing the breath out of him.

"Luna!" He gasped, once she broke off for air.

"Well, I had to put something in your mouth before you inserted your own foot, because while Madam Rosmerta _is_ beautifully stacked, my breasts are lovely, too – as you well know!"

"Luna!" Ron growled, embarrassed, but his blue eyes danced delightedly as he took her face in his hands and leaned down to kiss her.

Harry and Hermione looked at one another, and snorted with laughter. They were still laughing as they strolled past the post office and they nearly missed someone calling out to them.

"Neville!" Ron groaned.

"We forgot!" Hermione said, spinning to face the boy.

"It's quite all right. I didn't expect you to hang about forever." Neville puffed out white clouds of breath as he jogged to catch up. His eyes were bright and in good humor, flakes of snow catching in his long brown lashes. "I've got to stop in here." He indicated the post office. "Forgot part of my list, so I need an overnighter. Where're you lot headed?"

"Honeydukes, then the Hog's Head," said Harry.

"Right, then. I'll catch up to you in the sweetshop."

Harry and the others dashed across the street to enter Honeydukes. The shop's warmth and bright lights enveloped them, and the sweet, heady aroma of chocolate assaulted their senses immediately as it swirled thickly through the crowd of students sampling unique St. Valentine's Day offerings, as well as stocking up on old favorites.

"Bloody hell!" said Ron. He had picked up a heart-shaped chunk of chocolate that oddly matched the rhythm of his own heart. When his breathing accelerated in disbelief, the palm-sized chocolate treat did as well.

"Fascinating!" said Luna, pressing one small hand to Ron's chest and a finger over the candy heart.

"Oh!" said Hermione. "There're the Chocoballs I told Mum I'd get for her and Dad." She let go of Harry's hand to make her way over to the display against the far wall.

After a moment the heart lost its appeal and Ron set it down. Grasping Luna around the waist from behind, he said "Let's go get some fudge." He then gently marched her to the back of the shop leaving Harry alone.

Harry looked about for a bit, then spotted Hermione queuing up to pay for her purchase. She shot him a wink and a teasing smile. Harry grinned, overcome by the urge to go kiss her, but then a beefy Hufflepuff Harry didn't recognize approached her, blocking his view. '_Lot's of blokes trying to chat her up_…' Poor sap had obviously not received the memo. Harry chuckled and turned to glance out the shop window, wanting to check the snow's progress. He stiffened when he found his view obstructed by Malcolm Baddock.

"Here without your guard dog?" The hulking boy crooned.

Harry sighed. For days after the adoption Baddock had accosted him anytime he spotted him alone, a ritual encounter Harry failed to share with Snape. At first it had made him angry, but then he'd had to remind himself that though Baddock _was_ enormous, he was only a fourth-year, thusly, Harry never drew his wand on the boy. And as Baddock had been the instigator of the Slytherin 'uprising', Harry felt he had already been duly punished after a fortnight of detentions with Charlie. He didn't see how having Snape punish the boy even more would improve the situation.

Unsurprisingly, that bit of grace didn't stop Baddock falling out of the shadows one evening as Harry was headed to the pitch for practice. The masochist in Harry made him curious if Baddock had added anything new to the repertoire of snarls, threats, and chest pokes. He had been surprised when the Slytherin had dispensed with the usual and had launched into a laughable tirade about the disgrace of the Slytherin Head playing 'Daddy' to Gryffindor filth. As he raged, he was completely ignorant of the fact that 'Daddy' had appeared right behind him, transporting a large, floating crate of potions supplies. When the boy started in on Harry's 'dodgy' parentage ('I heard your Mudblood mum was a whore for the Dark Lord!') Snape spoke:

"Mr. Baddock, either remove yourself from my sight this instant or I shall manage it for you – and make no mistake, you'll find my way _most_ unpleasant."

At Snape's first silky syllable, Baddock jumped. And then he did a sublimely unexpected thing: he wet his pants.

Harry's eyes grew big as he watched the liquid trickle down to darken the stone floor and form a pool around Baddock's large, flat feet. Harry tried to hold it in, really, but the sight of the big Slytherin's face screwed up like a naughty six year-old was too much and he burst into cackling laughter. It was a mix of genuine mirth and relief at Snape's handling of the situation, but a helpless anger colored it as well – Snape had adopted him; Slytherins really needed to get over it.

Now face to face with the hostile fourth-year and his cohort, Vincent Crabbe – looking only half as intimidating without Goyle stuck like a barnacle to his left side – Harry remained calm and alert, tracking their every move.

"What do you want, Baddock?" he said, aiming for an even tone. He was keen to enjoy the afternoon with his friends, not waste time scuffling with this brute, but that seemed less likely as Baddock edged in closer, his bulk making the cramped aisle feel as roomy as a cubby hole. He smiled – an unfortunate move that underscored his resemblance to a cursed gargoyle.

"Guess." He growled.

Harry couldn't resist. Feigning contemplation, he said, "Um…Clean trousers? 'Cause as I recall, you made a right mess of an old pair."

"You dare! You Gryffindor –"

"Yes, yes, Gryffindor filth. Try one I _haven't_ heard!"

"Harry? Is Luna –" Ron's lip curled at sight of the big Slytherins. He was taller than both boys, but Crabbe and Baddock together outweighed him by a man. "What in bloody hell d'you want?"

"This is nothin' to do with you, Weasley. Me and Potter are just havin' us a friendly confab, ain't that right?"

"You even_think_ to hurt him, and I'll –" Ron began.

"Oh I wouldn't dream of layin' a finger on your precious Potter, Weasley. No, that's not for me to do, but _someone_ will… and sooner than you think."

Uneasy with the boy's cryptic talk, Ron took a step forward. In a flash, Malcolm whipped out his wand; for the second time that day, Ron did the same.

"Piss off, Weasley!"

Again, Harry couldn't help himself; he snorted. "Interesting choice of words there, Baddock."

Already flushed with rage, Baddock's face turned an arresting shade of plum, then with a quickness belying his oafish size, his wand was at Harry's throat. It was at that exact moment that Draco happened by. Harry spotted him through the mountainous lumps of Crabbe and Baddock's shoulders. He hadn't even known Malfoy was in the shop.

Draco's gray eyes narrowed at the sight of the Gryffindor/Slytherin huddle. He focused on Ron, who had his wand pointed at Baddock's chest. That meant Baddock or Crabbe – or both – had drawn their wand. Draco drew his. Harry spared a second to panic, unsure of the boy's intention. Ron went rigid and Harry knew he was contemplating Malfoy's intent, too. Ron began to change his aim.

Draco caught Ron's eye. He motioned for him to be still. Ron frowned and opened his mouth. With a fierce shake of his head, Draco jammed a finger to his lips, demanding silence. Ron glared at Draco, but for a happy change, said nothing. Harry kept careful eye contact with Baddock, wanting him properly distracted from what was going on behind him. Then Draco fixed his wand on Crabbe and Baddock's broad backs. Harry heard Ron swallow in relief; he did the same. To Baddock, they probably looked scared, but Harry could have laughed, because once again the boy was unknowingly outflanked by a fellow.

"Get that wand away from my throat," he said.

"Or what, Potter? Your new _dad_'s not here to protect you. Now we're even…"

Harry blinked. "What?"

Baddock stepped closer, so close Harry felt the boy's rank, heated puffs of breath on his forehead. "Did you never wonder who found you at your little summer hideaway? Did you never wonder what happened to those that did? _I_ did. In fact, me and my family can hardly think of much else, 'cause see, my father, he never came back from that trip. My mother, my brother, and me, we don't even have his body to bury!"

"Baddock, you're cracked," said Ron, his voice filled with wonder at the boy's increasingly hysterical tone. In the next instant Baddock flicked his wand back toward Ron, but with a slickness Harry couldn't help but admire, Draco moved.

"_Expelliarmus! Petrificus Totalus!_"

With a snap, Baddock seized up and toppled backwards as his wand arced toward the ceiling; Harry quickly plucked it out of the air just as Draco sidestepped the heavy body as it fell. Mystified, Crabbe whipped around. He gawped at Draco as if he had materialized out of thin air.

"You hexed him! A Slytherin!" Crabbe grunted, horrified.

"Would you rather he ended up in Auror custody for cursing Potter?" Draco said.

"As if you care!" Crabbe said. "Soddin' blood traitor, you are! I thought Baddock was barkin' when he said you'd turned, but he was right, wasn't he? Been spying on us all this time, eh? For _this_?" He sneered and jerked his head at Harry. "Reckon I can figure you were the one to rat out my father!" When Draco paled, Crabbe leaned in close to him. "Everyone's gonna know what you did here and you'll get what's comin' to you... believe me. …Oh, and that business with your mum? She deserved it! Every bad bit of it!" He then stepped over Baddock, and roughly elbowed past some gape-mouthed Ravenclaws to storm out of the shop.

In stunned silence Ron, Draco, and Harry watched him cross the street to the post office, nearly upending Neville as he blustered past. The boys turned to eye one another.

"What was that about, then?" Ron demanded of Draco, who was pale as milk, and just as expressionless. "You actually keen on makin' enemies of Slytherins?"

"Ron…" Harry said. He didn't understand Malfoy's motives or Crabbe's creepy comments any better than Ron did, but now was hardly the time to discuss it.

"Well, what's goin' on? Why're you all of a sudden trying to protect Harry?" Ron scowled.

"I didn't _try _anything, Weasley!" Draco snapped. "I know the obvious is often difficult for you to grasp, but I just quite successfully saved Potter's arse without any help from you!"

"I would have…"

"… succeeded in getting either yourself or your Gryffindor mascot there cursed, or worse!"

"Stuff it, Malfoy!" Harry snarled, clamping down on the urge to snatch the boy bald. That 'mascot' bit was completely uncalled for and 'saved' was a bit out of turn, too!

Hermione rounded the corner, a bag dangling from her arm. She startled at the sight of Malcolm lying prone. "You all okay?"

"We're fine," Ron said, eyeing Draco, his expression a mixed bag of confusion and blatant disbelief.

"Did you do this?" Hermione's worried eyes were on Harry.

"No… Malfoy," said Harry, his expression not unlike Ron's.

"Oh. Well… thank you, Malfoy." Hermione gave the Slytherin an appraising nod.

Draco blinked, taken aback by her sincere tone. "No need to get all sentimental, Granger." He drawled.

At the sound of a blunted tapping on the shop's large display window they all jumped. Draco and Ron jerked around, their wands at the ready, but they lowered them when they spotted Ginny. She had a huge grin on her face and was waving eagerly for them to come outside. At sight of their wands, she frowned, then mouthed, "Why so jumpy?"

With a shaky laugh of relief, Ron shook his head. He pocketed his wand and lifted his chin to her, indicating that they were on their way out. She nodded slowly, then turned back to Dean, Neville, and Seamus.

"Bloomin' idiot." Harry muttered as he navigated his way over Malcolm. He turned to Draco. "Um... you comin' with us?"

Draco regarded him warily. "Where are you going?"

"The Hog's Head," Harry said, and Draco's lip twitched with disdain. Harry cringed inwardly. He didn't really want the boy tagging along because he'd no idea if Draco, buoyed by the company of like-minded Slytherins, would mind his manners as he had during the holidays. Yet as he chewed things over, he suspected it might be best if they stuck together; Snape expected it and Harry knew they would need a similar tale to share with the man when they got back.

It took a moment, but Draco inclined his head, slightly. Like Harry, he saw the wisdom of them staying together, especially if any more bad Knuts like Baddock turned up.

The Gryffindors exited the store first, followed by Draco and Theo; Pansy and Blaise were the last to leave. They stepped out to the sound of Ginny laughing, a bright, uncomplicated tinkle cut short when the shop's large display window blew apart, coughing out missiles of glass, and raising horrified screeches from inside and outside the shop.

"Bloody hell, Zabini!" Seamus shrieked. "Why'd ya –"

"Seamus, get down!" Neville yelled.

As one, everyone collapsed to lie flat on the pavement. Arms tangled as they covered heads, and backs, voices screamed out names repeatedly in a horror-filled roll call.

It seemed an age, but no more than twenty seconds had passed since the attack began. Noting that glass had stopped raining down on them, Harry took advantage of what he hoped was a lull in the action; he raised his head to peer over Blaise's back. Four Death Eaters were positioned across the street just in front of the post office, their wands fixed on the small group. At the prompting of a tall, strapping Death Eater, one of his fellows, lithe and willowy, stepped out into the street, moving at a fast clip. The street was narrow; the Death Eater would be on them in a matter of seconds. Harry knew he had to act. Amidst the tangle of bodies, he quickly eased up to a squat, then using Blaise's back as a launch pad, he exploded to his feet.

"Harry! NO!" Hermione screamed. She rose up and clutched at his leg, desperate to pull him back down.

"Stay down!" Harry shouted. Quick as a viper, Theo pulled her flat and rolled, tucking the hysterical girl beneath him.

When the tall Death Eater, the apparent leader, signaled his comrades to fire, Harry made a fist. Out of nowhere, he had a clear vision, a memory of himself in the paddock beside Soth-ince, Snape firing spells at him, expecting him to deflect them without fail. The man's instructions had been to focus, anticipate, then act, and it had worked beautifully, but that had been Snape, alone: these were four Death Eaters intent on doing grave harm to Harry and his friends.

With all four Death Eaters in his sights, he focused his energy and punched his right arm outward.

A thick pressure radiated so strongly, everyone groaned at the feel of it building up in their ears, making them pop. Then the pressure exploded outward to connect with the Death Eaters. Pained roars and moans erupted as they flew back through the air to connect hard with the pavement. Like penguins on ice, they skidded across the powdery crust of new snow, then slammed into the front of the post office's stone facade with an audible thud.

As the Death Eaters lay dazed, Harry took that time to assess the wide-eyed group staring up at him disbelievingly.

"Is everyone all right?" He yelled.

Shaky and hesitant, everyone began to rise and sort each other out, sweeping off glass in showers, muttering: "Ron, you have glass in your hair," "Seamus, your cheek is bleeding!" "Longbottom, _please_ get off my foot!"

"My hand!" Pansy cried suddenly as she clutched her left hand to her chest. Neville was beside her. Wordlessly, he took her hand in his, then slowly unfolded her fingers to expose her palm. A Sickle-sized sliver of glass had penetrated her green leather glove.

After yanking his gloves off with his teeth, Neville looked into her frightened blue eyes and said, "Take a breath."

"What are you doing?" she cried as Neville's fingers neared the glass. "Blaise!" she nearly screamed, trying to snatch her hand out of Neville's.

"Pansy!" Neville barked. "Take a breath, damn it!" Shocked into silence, she obeyed. Breathless, she watched as Neville gently eased the glass out, then slid her glove off to reveal a fairly shallow cut. He quickly pulled out his pocket square to wrap around her palm.

"Sorry for being short," he said, offering up a crooked smile. Letting go of her hand he added, "That should be okay 'til we get to the castle." Pansy stared at him, flabbergasted.

Meanwhile, Harry had pulled Hermione free of Theo's bear-like grip and was searching her face and body frantically for damage.

"I'm all right, Harry," she said. "Really, I-I'm all right." Harry clutched her to him, needing more than her word as proof.

"Harry –" Ron began. He looked deeply shaken.

"We have to get to the Hog's Head, Ron, to Aberforth so that –" Harry stopped.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted movement. Ron saw it too. His hand shot out to grab Pansy and Neville to yank them clear of the curse flying at them. In one fluid movement, Harry turned and pushed Hermione away from him into Dean's arms. Making a giant circular motion he conjured a shield, reminiscent of the one Dumbledore had used against Voldemort in the Ministry Atrium. Right on time the shield repelled the curse like water off a duck's back. The curse rebounded and struck the tall Death Eater and a fellow, knocking their masks askew. Hermione gasped loudly.

"I know hi –" She began, only to be interrupted by Harry shouting.

"RUN!"

Wasting no time for discussion, Ron snagged Luna and Pansy around their waists, practically hauling them up the street like sacks of potatoes. The others struggled after him, slipping and sliding on the snow in their haste to get clear of the madness. Having tried and failed to expand the shield to encompass more area, Harry now used both hands to brace it. He then spared a second to check how far everyone had progressed: Dean was dragging a screeching, struggling Hermione behind him while firing spells at the Death Eaters; Draco, shielding Ginny behind him, was firing off spells as well; he bellowed at her to run; she yelled, "_Protego!_" blocking a round of curses aimed at them.

The relentless volley of strikes to the shield made it difficult to hold and reverberated painfully along Harry's arms, but he managed to yell, "Oy!" at the Death Eaters. They left off firing at Draco and Ginny, and turned their attention to him. He hoped the shield held out until the others had at least made it round the corner, but he didn't know how much longer he could manage it. Snape's belief that he would be even more powerful than Voldemort or Dumbledore never seemed more silly and farfetched than at that moment, as Harry didn't feel the least bit powerful – he was too scared. He wanted desperately to go home, but he couldn't, not with all the screaming.

The terrible, frightened sounds coming from the shop pierced his heart. The Death Eaters were there for him, but that didn't mean they wouldn't kill anyone that got in their way. Again, he looked over at Draco and Ginny, hoping they had reached the safety of the corner, but they were battling a short, portly Death Eater who was cackling, delighted at his little game. Suddenly, Ron dashed back round the edge of the building and began to dart back and forth, throwing hex after hex with one hand, while gesticulating wildly with the other as he yelled at Ginny. Just then a spell connected and blew her knitted cap off her head. Momentarily stunned, she felt about her hair, then growled. Looking as if she was about to launch herself across the street at the short, fat Death Eater, Draco caught her up in his arms and began to drag her toward Ron, but she struggled, insanely desperate, to get away.

"Damn it, Malfoy!" Harry roared. "Take her and go!"

"What in bloody hell do you think I'm trying to do?" Draco yelled back.

"Malfoy, now!" Ron bellowed.

Draco cast Harry one last look before tossing Ginny over his shoulder and running. With oddly graceful stops and starts, he made his way to the side street where Ron took Ginny and enveloped her in a tight hug. Then they all three yelled at Harry: "Potter, come ON!" "Harry c'mon!"

Their shouts drew the fire of two of the Death Eaters. Draco battled back, his motions cool and exact; Ron jumped out beside him, his wand flashing back and forth.

"Harry!" Ron cried. "Now, mate! Run, now!"

Harry tossed the shield with a grunt and fled, zigzagging as best he could to avoid the spells being cast at his back. A wayward curse hit the building where Ron and Draco stood. Draco cried out when a bit of stone slashed his neck. Ron grabbed him by the collar and dragged him out of the line of fire. Draco choked and sputtered, batting at Ron's large hand. Ron quickly let go and Draco grasped his throat, red-faced and coughing. He looked up at Ron with gray, watery eyes and gave a sharp nod.

Just then, Harry raced round the corner. "You lot," he gasped, "go on! Get to the pub!"

"Are you mad?" Ron said. "I'm not leaving you! Come on!"

"Ron, please!" Harry said. "GO!" He pushed Ron in the chest, urging him up the street.

"Harry –" Ginny began.

Frustrated that they weren't listening to him and knowing that the Death Eaters would be there any second, Harry shoved them, as gently as he could, back toward the pub. The sight of the shocked, bug-eyed teens as they were forced back without being touched might have been comical were Death Eaters not literally steps away.

Theo, struggling with a screaming Hermione in the middle of the street, gawked in disbelief; Dean was running toward them, yelling for Ginny.

Poised some distance from the pub's entrance, Aberforth watched the chaos, but his stomach twisted when a lithe, shadowy shape emerged from the passageway alongside the building on Harry's right flank. Despite the snowfall, he could see something glinting coldly in its right hand as it positioned itself directly behind the boy.

Aberforth shouted, "_Accio_ athame!" at the same time that Ron shouted, "Harry!"

A hate-filled shriek of frustration rent the air as the knife arced toward Aberforth's waiting hand. As soon as the obsidian handle made contact, he let it fly, impaling the blade deep into the cloaked figure's chest. Distracted by the action so close behind him, Harry collapsed, breathless after a spell hit his leg. The Death Eaters had arrived.

"HARRY!" Damning the snow and the mass of pain that was his left knee, Aberforth began to hobble toward the boy. He had his wand out slashing through the air at the three Death Eaters converging on Harry. Ron, Draco and Neville, all casting spells, raced to follow.

When Luna screamed Ron's name, Aberforth turned and cast a spell to freeze the boys, preventing them moving any closer. Just as he whipped back toward Harry, the boy croaked, "_Protego!_" blocking an incoming curse whizzing toward the old wizard's head.

"Harry, get up and get to the pub!" Aberforth yelled.

Harry _had_ been trying to get to his feet, but his leg felt wrong, and it burned like fire when he shifted it the tiniest bit. Suddenly spent, he fell back, his breath pushed out in a pained grunt. He wanted to cry when he heard the brittle laugh of one of the Death Eaters as they advanced on him. Why hadn't he stayed at the castle like Snape wanted? All he could think now was how badly he wanted Snape to come get him.

Just as the thought crossed his mind, a sonic blast of wind and snow rocked the Death Eaters, flattening them against the pavement. Then a sound, like a whip, sliced through the air and someone – a Death Eater, Harry hoped – screamed. Though it hurt terribly to move, he angled his head in their direction, to see if they were out of commission or not. They were down, but not quite out.

The big one, the leader, had struggled to his knees. His mask was gone, ripped off by whatever spell had been used on him. Blood ran as he gingerly fingered his face, and Harry could see that he would be left with a remarkably gruesome zigzag of a scar running from his eyebrow to his chin. With his attention focused on something behind Harry, the man dipped his head in a slow, exacting nod. He then aimed the bottom of his wand, slashing it through the air at an angle, twice, making an 'x.' Just as he made the last down stroke to complete the 'x', a streak of green hit the pavement, but too late – he and his cronies had already Disapparated.

Harry shifted to look behind him. Squinting against the whiteout, he saw a tornadic swirl of black bearing down on him.

Snape. Dark-eyed demon. His black eyes burned a hole into the empty space where the Death Eaters had been. The sight of the livid man would have terrified most, but Harry burst into loud sobs of pain and relief. At the sound, Snape started to run.

"My leg, I think it's b-broken!" Harry gasped as Snape fell to his knees beside him. He wanted to staunch his tears, hating that he looked weak, but the pain was unbearable and Snape's naked expression made him feel small.

The man's dark eyes never left Harry's as he wrapped an arm around the boy's shoulders to gather him close, gently moving him into a sitting position. He was particularly mindful not to agitate Harry's injured leg, but when he angled his wand over it, Harry gripped the man's hand and shoved it away.

"_NO!" _he cried. "Hurts!"

"I know," Snape said quietly, his face a blank mask of calm he didn't truly feel. Though he too ached to scream, he said, "Trust me."

Harry did. With everything he had, he trusted Snape. He hiccoughed. "O-okay." When Snape nodded, Harry grasped a handful of the man's robes, squinched his eyes shut, and pinched his lips together in anticipation.

Snape leaned to softly speak a mild pain-relieving charm into Harry's ear. The boy expelled a soft puff of air and then fell unconscious. A jagged pain danced around Snape's chest at the sight of Harry's head lolling about, as loose and lifeless as a ragdoll's, but he banished the morbid thoughts threatening to overwhelm him and quickly followed up the pain-relieving charm with a binding spell to splint Harry's leg. With a long finger, he gently wiped away Harry's tears which had mingled with the melting snow. Then he began to shake uncontrollably.

"Severus, we must get inside," said Aberforth, sharp blue eyes darting about, uneasy. The snow was falling even heavier, limiting visibility terribly. Spotting Ron, Draco, and Neville still frozen he ended the charm, then turned back to Snape. The man still hadn't moved save for the trembling.

"Let me help you."

"No!" Snape's voice cracked, tattered, and rough. "I've got him..."

Once Snape was up, he found himself flanked by Ron and Neville, each with their wands out. Aberforth limped over to the crumpled body of the Death Eater he felled. Levitating it before him, he trailed the others back to the pub. Hysterical crying peppered with shouting and foul language erupted as soon as he closed the door. He directed the body onto the floor near the bar. Neville and Dean stood in silent, wide-eyed contemplation; Draco, also silent, wandered over to the body.

"SILENCE!" Aberforth boomed. Mouths snapped shut quickly, encouraged by the old wizard's fierce expression. "Severus, we must get the children to the castle."

Having lain Harry on a long table in the middle of the pub, Snape stood stroking the boy's hair, seemingly intent on making every stray cowlick lie flat. He gave no indication he had heard Aberforth.

"Professor," said Draco. He put a hand on Snape's arm. "They'll come looking for Bellatrix."

Snape's eyes snapped to the boy's face. "_What?_"

Aberforth frowned and shuffled over to the body. He toed back the hood with his boot. Though it was already apparent by the abundance of long black hair that it was indeed Bellatrix Lestrange, he kicked off the mask. Her mad, violet eyes were frozen wide open in disbelief as blood bloomed across the front of her robes and trickled from her mouth. Snape blanched, but his eyes burned at the memory of his last encounter with the witch.

Aberforth conjured a dark blanket to drape over the corpse. At Harry's other side, Hermione sniffed, gripping his hand to her chest.

"I recognized one of them," she said. All eyes turned to look at her. "I met him last summer at university. His name is Billy." She fairly spat the name.

"Billy?" said Dean. "Wasn't the Auror that let Malfoy, er, Lucius escape from the Ministry named Billy? Billy...?"

"Loyd," Draco said flatly. Hermione looked at him and nodded.

"I dropped my book bag one day and he helped me pick everything up... I – I'd left a letter from Harry in it."

Ron groaned. "We were s'posed to burn those!"

Hermione's voice hitched. "I know, but I just couldn't bring myself to do it." She raised her head to look at Snape as fresh tears streamed down her face. "He must have taken it… I could never find it after that. They must have cast all manner of spells on it to discover where you were last summer... I'm sorry."

The muscles in Snape's jaw jumped, but he said nothing, simply directed his attention back to Harry.

"Well, there's nothing for it now," Ron said, moving to stand at Harry's feet. "How are we going to get back to the castle? We can't go back out there!" He jabbed a thumb at the door.

"Let me worry about that, Mr. Weasley," said Aberforth. "Is everyone accounted for?"

Ron looked about, lips moving as he silently totted up all the heads. "Everyone's here."

"Severus, we've not a moment to spare. We must go upstairs now."

Snape nodded jerkily and once again eased Harry into his arms. When Harry grimaced and moaned softly, Snape gathered him closer. Pressing his cheek to Harry's forehead he whispered: "You're all right, you're safe."

He looked up to find Ron gaping at him, but the teen quickly tempered his disbelieving expression then grasped Luna's hand allowing Snape to pass by behind Aberforth. The group then made its way up the rickety staircase to the end of the hall. A disjointed looking fireplace with an oil painting of a young girl above it morphed out of the wall's previously blank space.

"Ariana, I need passage for Severus and these children," Aberforth said.

The girl smiled sweetly, if rather vacantly, then the portrait swung open to reveal a black hole.

"_Illuminata._" Aberforth muttered. Torches whuffed into life, blazing brilliantly, lighting a long, dank tunnel. Snape stepped forward to go through, then stopped. He looked down at Harry's pale, drawn face and exhaled harshly. Aberforth gently dragged his knuckles across Snape's cheek, wanting the man to look at him. Snape did.

"I shouldn't have allowed it." He whispered so that only Aberforth could hear. "I should have refused him! This is my fault…"

"Do not think on it now, Severus. Go take care of him. I shall remain for only as long as it takes to speak with either Aurors or the Order, then I'll leave. I've a notion those monsters have only just begun their business here."

"Where?"

"I'll alert you once I'm settled." Snape opened his mouth to protest. "I shall be fine." Aberforth smiled softly, but his blue eyes twinkled with a chilling protectiveness. "We shall all be fine. Now, go!"

*WO

**The Hospital Wing, Hogwarts, February 1997 (15)**

Madam Pomfrey mended Harry's leg in a thrice, but demanded that he stay overnight. Harry was less than thrilled, but with Snape's approval, Pomfrey secreted a dose of a Sleeping Draught in the boy's pumpkin juice to quiet his protests.

Reluctant to leave him, Hermione slept curled up around his back; Ron slept in the chair Dumbledore charmed last summer at Harry's request; it morphed into Hagrid's oversized seat of choice, perfect for Ron's long, lanky frame. Harry had been stunned to wake and find that Draco had kipped on a nearby bed – until he recalled Crabbe's threat. Snape had sat awake all night in a seat near Harry's head, perfectly positioned to see anyone or anything entering the ward.

Harry woke only once, breathless from a nightmare of Baddock standing in the middle of Hogsmeade's High Street, his mouth open, a horrific gaping hole of evil as he pointed at Snape: "KILL HIM!" On his command four green streaks blasted Snape in the chest. "_Dad!_" Harry screamed as the dream-Snape dropped, wide-eyed, to his knees, his graceful hands clawing and scrabbling at his chest until he stilled and fell over. Mired in thigh-high drifts of snow, Harry struggled toward the man, desperate to touch him, to make him wake up, to make him breathe again. But soon he was being lifted up and out of that dream-Hell, the calming feel of long fingers raking through his hair soothing him, along with the soft, melodic murmurings in his ear that he was _safe_, _safe_, _safe_.

Before releasing Harry the next morning, Madam Pomfrey looked him over. As she poked and prodded him, he took in the tired, but laughing faces of everyone surrounding him: Hermione, Ron, Neville, and Ginny. Draco, with a small bandage on his neck, stood stiffly off to the side, looking back and forth between the cheerful group and Snape, who was speaking quietly with Dumbledore.

Back in his quarters, Snape informed Harry that Aberforth had reached a safe place and that he sent his love. Harry had flushed at Aberforth's sentiment, but he had also heaved a great sigh of relief that the old man was out of danger. According to the _Prophet _a great number of shop owners had followed Aberforth's example and boarded up their businesses before fleeing the village. Hogsmeade became a relative ghost town.

Likewise, a grim pall settled upon Britain like a weighted, immovable curtain as Voldemort and his camp began their run on the country. For Muggles and wizards alike, life became as treacherous as a stroll through a minefield.

But within the safety of Hogwarts' walls, Harry was happy. He was in love, he was surrounded by good friends, and he had Snape. But soon, he would curse himself for so freely and so fully enmeshing himself in that contentment. He would curse the life he had come to know and love, and he would damn the man responsible. A devastating deceit committed to memory long ago in the dark of night would bring a bitter longing for the dark days of fifth-year Occlumency lessons when Harry ate, slept, and breathed a deep, burning hatred for Severus Snape.

*WO


	20. Chapter 20

Disclaimer: JK Rowling's characters.

**Hogwarts, February 1997**

Hogwarts became a veritable fortress following the attack on Hogsmeade, but that did nothing to stop scores of frightened parents from swarming the castle once news of the attack broke. Dumbledore did his best to assure them that the utmost precautions were being taken to ensure their children's safety, but a number could not be swayed and they took their children home. Slytherin's numbers shrank by half, but not because of safety concerns; it seems the reported version of events inside Honeydukes offended more than one Pure-bloods' sense of fairness.

A review of the row included testimonies from Harry, Ron, Draco, Baddock and Crabbe. A panel made up of each Head of House and Dumbledore interviewed each boy separately. Unsurprisingly, Baddock's and Crabbe's stories differed greatly from Ron's and Harry's, but Draco's account tipped the scales in the Gryffindors' favor, leaving the panel to conclude that since Baddock and Crabbe had not actually attacked Ron and Harry, they could not be expelled—they would, however, face sanctions from the Board of Governors.

Crabbe, whose father was in Azkaban, and whose mother—in a bout of callous self-interest—fled the country just after her husband's arrest, was tasked (until the end of term) to endure nightly detentions with Filch in his office two nights a week, and minding the Thestral herd with Charlie in the forest three nights a week. The boy confided to Goyle that he preferred nights closeted with Filch in the caretaker's stale office to nights on the grounds with Charlie. Apparently the redhead doled out generous raps to the knuckles every time Crabbe frightened a Thestral foal: "S'not fair! Can't even see the bloody buggers, now can I?"

But Baddock, wanting nothing to do with the Board of Governors—'Dumbledore's nob suckers', he had viciously dubbed them—opted to leave school with his mother's blessing. Maddened by grief and anger following her husband's disappearance last August, Imelda Baddock, a Pure-blood and rabid supporter of Voldemort, was explicit in her disdain of 'magical despoilers' that had 'no more right in the wizarding world than a sheep shagging Muggle did.'

In a blistering exposé to the _Prophet,_ she flatly rejected the claim that her son had threatened Harry and Ron. She cited a lack of 'honest evidence' and claimed that her son had been a victim, too: "As usual Dumbledore is instigating a blatant cover up! What he doesn't want everyone to know is that Draco Malfoy stunned my son... on _Harry Potter's_ order! Why, Malcolm could have been maimed or killed by all that flying glass as he lay there, helpless, yet they would paint _him_ as a common criminal? I think not!"

She went on to avow that 'no gang of Mud-blood lovers' would hold sway over her son's future, especially as she and her husband had long considered removing their sons from Hogwarts, as it had, under Dumbledore's 'weak-kneed reign, devolved into a haven for degenerates.' She pointedly mentioned Harry, Hermione, and the Weasleys as prime examples, but her family's fury had no shortage of targets.

"'Lady Baddock's eldest son, Malcolm, claims that he and his Housemates had long expressed concern regarding the mental state of Slytherin Head, Severus Snape. The Potions master and erstwhile Death Eater's close association with the illustrious Harry Potter (a boy judged to be marginally unstable in the least and completely certifiable at best) helped spark this concern.'

"'"I'd see them round,' young Baddock said of Potter and Snape, 'whispering and carrying on. Before this term, they were _always_ at each other's throats, so we were completely gobsmacked when Snape went and adopted Potter.' When asked his feelings on his flaky schoolmate, Mister Baddock stated: 'Potter's got everyone snowed. There's something not right about him. I mean, blimey, he got the Head of _Slytherin_ to adopt him!'

"'And dear readers, really, must not all _rational_ thinking witches and wizards allow room for the possibility that this syndrome, this mental contagion from which Harry Potter suffers—'"

"That gossiping, haggis-faced troll!" Ron raged, interrupting Neville's recitation. "Only Rita Skeeter would concoct something so bloody bogus and try to play it off as news! Why didn't she ask Baddock how the Death Eaters knew Harry was goin' to the village that day? They had _two _chances to attack Hogwarts students before then. Why that day? Bloody mummy's boy likely tipped 'em off!"

Harry sat, pensive, happy to let Ron rant on his behalf. Used to being on the wicked end of Rita Skeeter's quill, he wasn't bothered by the stories in the _Prophet—_what did bother him, though, was the clear uptick in Snape's absences during the evenings. Harry worried, because though Snape tried to hide it, _he_ was worried.

Since the attack, the man watched Harry constantly, as if his dark gaze alone could shield him from harm. At night, he had taken to coming into the boy's room. A solid, cinnamon and clove scented weight would settle next to Harry on his bed, and then he would feel his hair being stroked, his back being rubbed, or the covers being drawn up to his neck from their tangled heap around his hips. Luxuriating in the gentle caresses Harry never made a sound save a contented exhale as Snape's fingers lulled him into a deep sleep. Those nights, he let the man take what he wanted, what he obviously needed for peace of mind. Harry believed the night visits a silent exhortation for him not to worry. Fat chance.

Since the attack, Snape spent an hour, sometimes two, in staff meetings after dinner every night. He and Dumbledore in the corridors whispering heatedly became an all too common sight. Sometimes it was just the two of them, but most often they were accompanied by the other teachers, gesturing, looking deeply preoccupied and always, _always_ whispering. Knowing he'd get a dark-eyed glare for his trouble, Harry didn't bother to ask about the huddles, but he had a sneaking suspicion they had to do with spying, more specifically, with _Snape_ spying. He had no solid proof that Snape was leaving the castle—only a gut feeling, but if he was right, Harry had no idea how the man dreamed he could infiltrate Voldemort's ranks without being detected.

But, he aimed to find out.

*WO

**Snape's Quarters, Hogwarts, March 1997 (03)**

"Where are you going?" Draco said, strolling out of the kitchen. He had a green bottle of mineral water in hand and a knowing grin on his lips.

Letting his fingers slip from the door knob, Harry gritted his teeth and cursed himself for having not been quiet or quick enough—then he cursed Snape for his ruddy sense of honor.

The attack in the village and the exodus of half of Slytherin from the castle seemed an omen, lending credence to the fact that sooner or later Hogwarts' inhabitants would be dragged into war. It was a feeling that overwhelmed everyone—including Snape. In the hospital wing, just after the attack, he and Draco had talked while the others slept. The conversation ended with Snape demanding that Draco move into his quarters. To Harry, Draco's hasty consent showed that he had little to no reservations about moving in; Harry had plenty, but he understood Snape's cautious attitude.

Without Baddock to guide him about by the nose, Crabbe seemed disturbingly frayed round the edges. His mindlessness reminded Harry of something he had learned about jelly fish in primary school: a severed jelly fish tentacle was _still_ venomously dangerous. He had seen Crabbe and Goyle scuffling in the corridor one day, with Crabbe shouting, "I'm gonna be somebody! I'm gonna make'em sorry for what they done to my dad! Draco, bloody Potter, all of of'em!" It was then that Harry began to think it not too farfetched that Crabbe had taken it upon himself to pick up where Baddock had likely left off as informant. When he shared what he had seen with Snape, the man simply nodded his head, a long finger to his lips.

While it made sense to have Draco out of Slytherin, it didn't mean Harry had to like it. He had hoped that they could work things the way they had while at the Hog's Head, with each keeping to themselves, but with their history, they knew how to push each others' buttons, and unsurprisingly, tensions occasionally boiled over—mostly because Draco had not lost his penchant for tattling.

Since moving in, the Slytherin had reported on Harry to Snape three times: once for spelling Draco's books closed (but only after Draco had spelled Harry's butterbeer to taste like wet dog); once for shrinking Draco's favorite, disgustingly expensive gray cashmere sweater (but only after Draco had hexed Harry as he was rushing to dinner, sending him flying into a trifle and a mound of giggling second-year Hufflepuff girls); and finally for spelling Draco's lips to swell up to the size of a bicycle tire inner tube (but only after Draco had spelled Harry's wandering hand to stick to Hermione's hind end in Potions). That entire episode had been a nightmare, what with Hermione's screeching meltdown and the class's lewd suggestions and wolf whistles. But even more appalling than having his hand attached to Hermione's bum in front of everyone had been seeing Snape's lips twitch in amusement while calling the class to order.

Unfortunately for Harry, Draco was not only a snitch, but had revealed himself to be as irritatingly meddlesome as Dumbledore and as much a worrywart as Hermione; he was just as smart too. It irked Harry that the boy seemed to spend at most an hour studying each night, yet he pulled out marks that had him nipping at Hermione's heels, making him second overall in their year. While Harry had always felt justified in thinking Draco's moral center—it if existed—was warped beyond all reason, he had never believed the boy to be stupid; he figured Draco knew that he was tailing Snape in the evenings, but Harry saw no need to explain himself. They were not friends.

After yanking off his Invisibility Cloak, Harry said, "Not that it's any of your business, Malfoy, but I was off to meet Hermione."

"Oh? Then why are you running round under that Cloak? You two planning on doing something in public that's best done in private?"

"Just because we share a room doesn't mean you can stick your pointy nose in my business, Malfoy!"

Draco laughed softly, a thing he knew irritated Harry. "Fine. I'll just let the professor know what time you left when he gets here."

Harry glared as Draco sauntered past into the sitting room, his soft-soled, handmade loafers whispering across the stone floor. Itching to shove the stout water bottle up Draco's nose, Harry followed, scowling.

"You're a right irritating arse, y'know that?"

"Mmm, and your insults are as inspired as your dreary taste in clothing," Draco drawled. "Now, are you leaving for this so-called meeting with Granger or not? I need to be clear on what to tell the professor."

With a smug smirk he planted himself on the sofa and crossed his legs. When his elbow crunched the newspaper folded over the arm of the sofa, he tossed it onto the coffee table, exposing the bold flashing headlines: _Tip Leading to Alleged 'Hostage House' a Bust! Lucius Malfoy Evades Aurors… Again! Ministry Continues to Look Inept!_

"Good ol' Lucius still hard at work, eh?" Harry knew it was a completely low thing to say, but really, just who did Malfoy think he was keeping tabs on him?

"You want to watch your mouth, Potter," Draco said. His teasing expression had turned black. "You know absolutely nothing about what my father gets up to! You think you do, but you've no earthly idea."

Harry's snorted in disbelief. "Oh, right, because that wasn't him I saw in that cemetery the night Voldemort came back and killed Cedric; because that wasn't him last year in the Ministry trying to kill me and my friends for a worthless piece of glass, and because that most certainly wasn't him in that goddamned forest with his wand aimed at my Da— a-at Snape, damn near killing him, was it?" They had never discussed that night and what Draco might or might not know, but his thinned lips was answer enough; Harry plowed ahead. "So if I'm so ignorant of all the evil your Pure-blood loving, house-elf-kicking, Dark Mark-wearing arse of a father 'gets up to', please, enlighten me! I'd hate to wrongly accu—"

"Enlighten this!" Draco snarled and threw his half-full water bottle at Harry's head.

Harry ducked at the last second so that instead of connecting with his skull the bottle hit the wall, exploding green shards everywhere. Harry jerked his arm up to cover his face, but a stray sliver of glass managed to lash open the skin along the upper edge of his right brow.

"You bloody idiot!" he shouted. As he was straightening up to gauge the damage, the front door opened and closed. He and Draco locked eyes; Draco whitened to the point of invisibility; Harry clapped a hand to his forehead, wiping furiously, hoping to staunch the bleeding, get rid of the evidence.

Snape's baritone sounded: "Draco? Harry?" Rounding the corner he startled at the crunch of glass beneath his boots. "What the devil –" He looked down at his feet, then over at Draco. Noting the boy's frightened expression Snape turned to Harry who was standing with his hand to his head, making a bad job of hiding the cut; blood was streaming down his cheek in slick rivulets.

"It's nothing," he said quickly in response to Snape's raised brows.

Disregarding the obvious lie, Snape pulled Harry to him and made the boy lower his hand; his expression darkened and he flashed Draco a look.

"Really, Dad, it's o –" At the gobsmacked look on Snape's face, Harry slammed his mouth shut.

"What did you say?" The man asked, sounding a bit breathless.

Harry's face burned as if heated by a thousand candles. Shifting his eyes downward he said, "I said it was o-okay." He then stared at Snape's shiny boots so hard he fancied he could see his face reflected in them.

"Oh, Merlin." Draco gagged dramatically and rolled his eyes. He stood up. "I'm going out."

"No, you're not," said Snape. The man's furious tone drew both boys' attention. "Once I finish tending to Harry, we're all going to sit and have a nice chat about the rules of this house, so settle in." He whipped out his pocket square and pressed it to Harry's wound. "Hold this," he said. He held Harry's gaze a moment before sweeping off to his lab.

Peeking out from under the edge of the cinnamon scented cloth, Harry glanced over at Draco. The boy had sat back down and laid his head against the sofa, pale brow furrowed in irritation. Harry went to go sit in the wing chair near the fire; his head was throbbing. When Snape returned, he sat on the coffee table before Harry where he cleaned and dressed the boy's wound. He also dosed him with a mild pain-relieving potion. Once he finished, he moved to sit on the sofa.

"Right," the man said, then gave a poke to Draco's thigh. Draco straightened immediately and looked around; his gray eyes were tinted red. Snape pointed to the floor and the glass fragments. "Explain."

Prodding his bandage, Harry said: "Could you not make a big thing of this, please? Really, we've sorted it out."

"Oh, have you?" Snape said. His tone was bland, but the caustic lift of his right brow spoke volumes.

"Well, look, you don't really expect us to get on every second of every day, do you?" Harry said.

Snape frowned. "You recall the assembly the headmaster called hardly more than a week ago regarding the Roxton boy, yes? You've been reading the papers?"

_The Daily Prophet_ and an underground edition of _The Quibbler,_ (Luna had cried silently in Ron's arms after the arrival of the first copy) charmed to arrive bi-weekly by Xenophilius since the holidays, spoke of the rising violence. Yet unlike the _Prophet_, _The Quibbler _hadn't ignored the disappearances of numerous children.

Wizards with a toe in both the wizarding and Muggle worlds were targeted for having established effective pockets of opposition to Voldemort in their communities. Muggles within those communities were mostly oblivious to the strange occurrences around them—a car swerving, nay floating, at the last minute to avoid a double-decker bus; fierce looking, almost wolfish men inexplicably repelled by a touch of silver to a bit of exposed skin; the draperies of the corner bread shop experiencing a peculiar outbreak of tiny black-haired creatures with vicious little teeth, a situation which strangely brought the constable around—he would spray the pests with an acrid smelling concoction, then gather the little beasts into a bag before tipping his hat to the bread shop's proprietor. On and on the oddities built up. Those Muggles who strayed too close to the truth of things either ended up Obliviated, or in the rare case, let into the fold. Those few often offered up their homes as safe-houses for Order members in need.

Touting the rebels as 'foolish resisters to the inevitable', Voldemort struck deep into the hearts of their families by way of their children. The first child, a nine year-old Half-blood, went missing in December, plucked from his bed in his Muggle neighborhood. The child's father was a wizard who worked as an historical preservationist at a Muggle museum. Because of these Muggle connections, and because a missing child was not an anomaly in the Muggle world, no one, not even the child's family, believed his abduction to be Voldemort's work. For those same reasons, when two ten year-old Muggleborn boys went missing in January, the wizarding world still took no notice.

But in late February, just after the attack in Hogsmeade, Half-blood, and Pure-blood children alike became priority when six went missing—three in one week. The ensuing uproar of 'The Lost Six' finally prompted the_ Prophet_ to follow _The_ _Quibbler's _lead in reporting a connection between He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and the missing children.

One of the missing turned out to be the five year-old sister of Pure-blood fourth-year, Ben Roxton. Hogwarts' students immediately rallied around the boy, offering their condolences or—for the more optimistic—well wishes. An American, Ben was soft-spoken and well-liked, his Southern accent going a long way toward endearing him to everyone in his House, Ravenclaw. Upon their arrival in Britain four years ago, Ben's Pure-blood parents had shunned all attempts to be drawn into Pure-blood only circles, and when Voldemort returned during their son's second year, they were quick to voice their fierce opposition to the Dark Wizard, but now they were paying a devastating price for that outspokenness.

"Yeah, but—" Harry said.

"But, nothing! There exists the very real possibility that Hogwarts could be attacked at any moment and I want you two prepared; I want you two to look after one another. You must." Snape paused to pierce each boy with a look. "There is a war going on out _there._ I will not tolerate one brewing in my own home as well."

"We are never going to like each other, sir," Draco said quietly, voicing Harry's exact thoughts.

"Well…" Snape said heavily, "that's a pity." He then rose and headed for his bedroom to take a rest before starting his shift patrolling the grounds.

WO*

**Dumbledore's Office, Hogwarts, March 1997 (15)**

After days of fruitless 'surveillance' beneath his Invisibility Cloak, Harry's heart leapt after spotting Snape stalking down the corridor toward Dumbledore's office. When the man rounded the corner and muttered the password, Harry quickly stole past the gargoyle before it sealed off the entrance. He then eased up the moving stairs, mindful of his proximity to Snape.

Snape knocked and the big door swung open to reveal a grim-faced Dumbledore seated behind his desk, an enormous pink quill in hand. Harry shot inside just as Snape pivoted to shut the door, but he was driven off balance when he stepped on a bit of his Cloak. In the bid to right himself, he grabbed the nearby cloak rack, his fingers gripping so hard they burned as he strained to prevent it wobbling. Luckily, Dumbledore had started to speak, leaving Harry to hope that neither wizard had noticed anything beyond the usual.

"Thank you for coming, Severus," Dumbledore said once Snape took a seat. "We need your inside knowledge of Riddle Manor to create a map. As you are the only one amongst us who has been inside..."

"This is to do with the missing children?"

Dumbledore nodded. "We now have reason to suspect that Tom is holding a number of hostages there, primarily the children that have gone missing since December, but access is limited. So many of us have gone to ground since the attack in Hogsmeade, thinning our ranks."

"You need more than just my memory of Riddle Manor, Headmaster," Snape said, irritation coloring his voice. "I _must _be included in the operations outside the castle. As you say, no one in the Order knows that place as I do."

"I cannot agree to that, Severus, not when you have Harry to contend with and –"

"And I'll not let his safety depend solely on arse-abouts like Mundungus Fletcher! Harry_ is_ the reason I'm doing this!"

"Of course, and with that in mind, are you really so eager to cast yourself back into such dangerous situations, situations that could in fact make him an orphan, _again_?"

Snape edged forward in his chair. "You would play me as a coward who would hide behind the boy simply because our relationship has changed?"

"No, Severus –"

"Because were something to happen to Harry, should anyone _dare_ to lift a finger to him –"

"Sev –"

"– safe harbor will be impossible to find here on earth and in Hell! Do not think to underestimate the lengths I will go to in order to protect my son!"

Harry clapped his hands over his mouth to stifle a gasp.

"Severus, you know perfectly well that I do _not _believe you a coward, and I know precisely how far you would go to protect Harry, but you must admit that your priorities now have a different weight about them, yes?" Dumbledore didn't sound particularly angry, but his voice had a pinched quality to it.

Snape swallowed and sat back, a silent acknowledgement of his overreaction. Dumbledore was right, of course. He _did _have to approach everything differently now that Harry was so central to his life. Chest heaving, he lowered his eyes, desperate to avoid the headmaster's knowing gaze.

After a moment, the old wizard asked softly: "How long have you viewed him as such, Severus?"

Snape shook his head and gripped his hands together, wringing them as if they ached. "I hardly meant it the way it sounded." The wonder in his voice made Harry's heart ache.

Dumbledore smiled, but it was tempered by a strong undercurrent of sadness. "I worry, Severus. Your love for Harry is plain, as is his for you, but—and you shall recall that I broached this with you long before you began adoption proceedings—denying him the truth about his parents' deaths will prove devastating."

"But you _know_ that—" Snape began.

Harry frowned. Why had Dumbledore brought up his parents, and more concerning, why did Snape sound so desperate, almost frightened?

"Yes, my dear boy, I know that you regret it, but I also recall how self-serving an act it was. Were Harry to find out—"

Snape gaped, furious. "You would do that? You would undermine all that I have accomplished with the boy?"

Dumbledore narrowed his eyes, making his blue-eyed gaze flinty."You presume too much, Severus, and quite wrongly. I simply meant that where Harry is concerned, I have learned my lesson, _you_ apparently have not."

"Oh, please!" Snape spat. "Spare me your toothless platitudes! If you mean to tell him that it was I who –"

Just then the fireplace roared to life; Snape and Dumbledore whipped around to see who was calling.

"Arthur? What is it?" Dumbledore hurried to the fireplace to kneel before Mr. Weasley's disembodied head. Mr. Weasley opened his mouth, then hesitated. He was clearly upset, his reddened puffy eyes obvious despite the green flames.

"Arthur!" repeated Dumbledore, his tone sharp.

"Kingsley and Bill…" Mr. Weasley's voice cracked with grief as he looked at Dumbledore. "They – they found Hagrid's body."

All three wizards turned toward Harry's horrified gasp.

*WO

**Hogwarts, March 1997 (15) **

Hagrid's death sent shockwaves through the castle. Many students had witnessed the man emerge virtually unscathed from the onslaught of spells and hexes Ministry Aurors had inflicted upon him just last spring, but for those privy to his lineage, how a half-giant could be cut down was a curiosity. Harry had, perhaps naively, counted on it to keep the big man alive, but even a half-giant was no match for an ambush of six fierce river trolls.

The call to gather in the Great Hall went out just after curfew. Nearly deserted corridors filled quickly with pajama-clad students flooding confusedly out of their Houses. As Snape and Dumbledore had long since departed for Order Headquarters, Harry entered the Hall alone. Spotting him, Ron and Hermione began waving wildly for him to join them. He wove his way through the crowd to go stand in front of Hermione, then plopped his head on her shoulder.

"Harry?" she said, stroking his back. "What –"

"Hagrid," he croaked.

After a second's silence to let it sink in, Ron swore loudly and banged his fist on the table making the sleepy-eyed students around him jump in alarm; Hermione let out an anguished yelp, then started to cry. Many in the Hall turned to look, but then McGonagall called for quiet. Several students burst into tears at the news, but most just sat dumbly, a pall of disbelief and dread muting their tired expressions.

With the attack in Hogsmeade and Ben Roxton's sister going missing, Hagrid's death made the third horrific incident connected to the school, and in as many months. War now seemed closer than ever. Some students began to grumble about going home, saying that if they were going to die, they would rather be with family. Others spoke angrily of fighting, of defending themselves and the school.

Following the brief assembly, Harry journeyed with the rest of his House to Gryffindor Tower. McGonagall accompanied them to the common room and informed them that if they needed to talk, her quarters would be open for as long as necessary. Several approached her about leaving; she asked them to her office.

Ron, Hermione, Neville, Dean, Seamus, and Ginny all turned to Harry. They wanted to know what he knew.

Circumventing the meat of Snape and Dumbledore's conversation, he told them what Mr. Weasley had said. Through her tears Hermione peered at him, certain he had left out pertinent details, yet she resisted grilling him in front of everyone; Harry was glad because his take on what had happened in Dumbledore's office was as muddied as the Black Lake's depths and he didn't want to speculate on its meaning; he wanted to wait until he'd talked to Snape.

A little after one a.m. Harry decided to go home. Ron and Hermione begged him to stay, but he wanted to see Snape. He had to know what all the cryptic double-talk about his parents added up to. Ron and Hermione offered to go with him, to keep him company, but he told them to get some rest. Hagrid's funeral was set for tomorrow afternoon.

*WO

Snape wasn't home when Harry arrived. Draco was in bed, but not yet asleep. It was only after Harry had settled into his own bed that Draco turned onto his side and dropped off.

Laying stiffly beneath his covers, brow frozen in a frown, Harry's thoughts fell back to the moment he was discovered in Dumbledore's office. He had dug his fingers into the cloak rack, needing to brace himself against the stabbing pain of Mr. Weasley's words. The rack creaked, giving his presence away. Pricking up at the sound, Snape turned and looked hard in Harry's direction. The bit of shimmery movement he saw might have been nothing, but the man's instincts told him that someone was there.

He ventured closer. Just steps away, the bright smell of the rain scented shampoo Harry begged Snape to make for him suddenly filled the man's nose. Like a prospecting blind man, he trailed his long fingers along the top and then the middle of the cloak rack until they connected with Harry's hands. There was an audible click as Snape swallowed. Though Harry wanted to jerk his hands away, he did not; he waited, breathless, as Snape took hold of the Cloak, pulling until his head was exposed. Harry would never forget the panicky dismay in Snape's eyes upon seeing him; in response, he had snapped his own eyes shut, frightened.

"Harry…"

Harry shook his head because he didn't know that voice. Void of any of its typically soothing silky inflection, this voice was a shipwreck, battered and beaten. Harry reasoned that if he didn't know this voice, then probably none of what he had heard was real.

"Harry." That voice again. "Look at me. Please."

Slowly, Harry's eyes fluttered open, but the most he could manage was to focus on Snape's mouth. Then Snape—or the white-faced, thin-lipped, broken-looking creature pretending to be Snape—started talking. Something about how presently, he and Dumbledore were needed to go help collect Hagrid's body, of how they had to then attend an emergency Order meeting to divine what had gone wrong with Hagrid's mission. Harry tried to follow the stream of sounds, really, but he could only stare blankly. Things only came into sharp focus when Snape took his face in his hands, applying a gentle pressure, entreating Harry to look him in the eye.

"I'm sorry." The man whispered.

Harry blinked and then jerked back as if Snape had struck him. The motion unbalanced him and his feet tangled in his Cloak so that he crashed to the floor. Snape knelt to help him up, but Harry shook his head because he didn't know, didn't know if the apology was for what he had heard, or for what he hadn't. Snape seemed to shatter at Harry's reaction, and the boy felt a tweak of satisfaction, because he knew that whatever Snape was apologizing for, it was nothing good, and that whatever he had to say by way of explanation for that apology, was going to hurt—he'd read it in the man's expression; he'd come to know _all_ the man's expressions and this one made him want to get away, made him want to escape the suffocating grief filling that room, filling him.

Hagrid was dead. Hagrid was dead and Snape knew something about Harry's parents' deaths.

*WO

Two hours after Harry got into bed, a soft rustle of movement sounded outside his bedroom door. Snape. Harry exhaled in a flood of relief for what felt like the first time in all of the long hours the man had been away, but that relief vied with the dread of learning what could prompt an _'I'm sorry' _from Snape—words the man would utter as easily as he would allow Neville to lead a Potions class.

When Snape pushed open the bedroom door, Harry quickly squeezed his eyes shut. For several silent moments, Snape stood poised, his hand resting lightly upon the door knob as he peered into the room, bluntly lit by the waning fire in the fireplace. As Harry lay there, a ragged sigh filled the room. His curiosity got the better of him and he slit his eyes open to see Snape—the man who had brazenly defied and deceived the Dark Lord for more than a year—hunched and broken against the door frame, his face in his hands. Mere feet from Harry, Draco's soft, easy snores lent a sense of normalcy to what felt like an obscenely abnormal moment.

'_I know that you regret it. I also recall how self-serving an act it was.'_

Harry wanted desperately to go to Snape, to ask what Dumbledore had meant. He had replayed that conversation in his mind over and over, and it still added up to senseless babble. Snape's apology had something to do with Lily and James, but _what _about them could unravel the Potions master so?

After a time Snape pulled the door closed, having offered up no soothing backrub, no gentle caresses to Harry's hair, and no whispered exhortations that all would be well. Perhaps because of that, sleep taunted Harry. Restless and unable to rid his mind of the sound of Snape's depleted sigh, he silently fled the dungeons for Gryffindor Tower just before sunrise.

Hermione left her bed for his where she drew his bed curtains and curled up beside him, ignoring his half-hearted pleas to be left alone. Eventually he fell into a thin, troubled sleep, his face pressed to her breasts as staticky remnants of Snape and Dumbledore's talk ran rampant in his head, fragmenting his dreams.

*WO

**The Great Hall, Hogwarts, March 1997 (16)**

For the funeral, Filch had cleared the Great Hall of the four large dining tables. Rows of wooden folding chairs now filled the chamber, separated down the middle by a large aisle lined on both sides with oversized pumpkins. Where the High Table normally sat rested an enormous Gryffindor-red coffin, Hagrid's moleskin coat draped across it. The tip of his pink umbrella peeked out from one of its numerous pockets.

Arriving early to get seats at the front, the subdued sixth-year Gryffindors shuffled up the aisle, Fang padding alongside Harry and Hermione. Harry took the aisle seat while Hermione sat to his left. Ron, Neville, and Seamus took the accompanying seats. Dean remained standing until Lavender and Parvati were seated before taking his own seat.

Unsurprisingly, students had gravitated to their own Houses, quartering the room as they did when the dining tables were present. Gryffindor and Ravenclaw were on the left side; Hufflepuff and Slytherin had settled on the right.

"Potter?"

Harry jumped. He twisted in his seat to find Draco looking down at him.

"The professor and I are over there." Draco nodded across the aisle. All the seats were nearly filled, but some students continued to mill about, trying to find spots next to their friends.

Snape sat next to the wall, anchoring the first row of Slytherins. He was leaning over, whispering something to a tiny second-year, but the moment Harry spotted him the man looked up. Harry's eyes narrowed in alarm: Snape looked haggard, but that was hardly surprising—last night had been beastly. Regardless, Snape's eyes roved Harry's face so intently, Harry worried that any moment the man would rise up to scold him and order him to bed. Horrified at the thought of how easily he could succumb to that, Harry swallowed and quickly looked away.

"Fine," he managed, then turned back to face Hagrid's coffin. After a moment, Draco heaved an angry sigh then left to rejoin Snape. The man's eyes were on him, Harry knew, but his problems could wait an hour. He owed his attention to Hagrid.

Eyeing the big red box that held his oldest friend, Harry imagined Hagrid would have preferred to be eulogized along the edge of the Forbidden Forest near his hut, but a crippling blizzard held the castle's denizens hostage. Deep mounds of snow blanketing the school's grounds and surrounding towns and villages, coupled with vicious winds strong enough the strip limbs off the Whomping Willow, made being outside unfit for man and most beasts.

When Harry blew out a shaky breath Hermione took his hand and entwined her fingers with his. She was crying. Harry leaned toward her to rest his forehead against hers, wanting to give her a brave smile, wanting to comfort her as she had done him last night, but he could only sigh sadly. They parted moments later when a hush fell over the Hall.

Dumbledore had emerged from one of the side doors behind the dais. Coming to stand in front of the coffin, he gave a single clap of his hands. Sharp inhales of surprise and awed murmuring filled the chamber when the Hall's magnificent windows melted away, providing a crystal view of the blustery swirl of snow outside; but the murmurs turned into terrified screams when a hulking shape blotted out the sky. Fang acknowledged the familiar latecomer with a deep, mournful howl. Hermione, recovered from her initial fright, reached to grab hold of his collar when the dog started for the window.

"Let him go," Harry said.

Once free, Fang trotted over to the window, then stood whimpering until a hand with a palm the size of a Mini Cooper poked through. Fang gave it two soothing licks then lay down, somberly eyeing Hagrid's coffin.

"Y'reckon Grawp's all right out there?" Ron whispered.

"'Course," Neville said, with a watery sniff. "Dumbledore'll have cast some sort of spell to protect him from all that cold."

Despite the probable warming charm, the giant sported a wildly distinctive scarf and matching cap that only Hagrid could have knitted. Harry imagined it must have taken all of last year and a mountain of yarn to make the multi-colored set. Watching the sad eyed creature run a hand under his bulbous nose, snuffling and keening for his half-brother, Harry jerked his gaze away lest he start sobbing as well.

Then Dumbledore began to speakabout Hagrid's humanity, his kindness. Conversely, the fearsome image of the half-giant filling the hut-on-the-rock's doorway as rain and wind lashed out at the night was what came to Harry's mind. That was the night he had been saved.

Moments later Dumbledore signaled to Firenze who had been standing near the Hall's entrance; the centaur trotted up the aisle toward the dais. Snape, along with the other Heads of House, also rose to make their way to the dais where they formed a tight circle around Hagrid's coffin.

A long moment of peaceful silence graced the Hall until a haunting baritone arose from within the circle. The opening note, rich and strong, wound through the vast chamber sheathing everyone in its grief. Many that had sat dry-eyed throughout Dumbledore's remarks now wept openly as the note swelled.

"Oh, Harry!" Hermione gripped Harry's arm.

He turned to her, but she nodded, wide-eyed, at the dais. Harry looked up. It was Snape that was singing; after a beat, McGonagall, Firenze, Dumbledore, and Sprout's voices joined in, each fluidly harmonizing to create a wondrous, heart wrenching melody. Flitwick piped out the tune on an ancient looking recorder, accompanied by Firenze strumming a lute.

Harry closed his eyes, lost in the unfamiliar tune. Ron later told him that it was a wizarding lament—another tidbit of wizarding lore Harry had no idea about—but it hardly mattered, for nothing could have expressed his feelings of loss more perfectly. After a moment, the voices and music that had joined Snape's voice stilled, leaving him to sing alone as he had began. As the last note faded, Harry tried to swallow against his anger and the uncertainty rising within him. He knew it was wrong, that it wasn't Hagrid's fault, but he was angry. The half-giant had promised to come back, and now, when Harry knew, without question, that he would need the man's buoyant presence the most, he was alone.

Dumbledore announced: "When the weather clears, we shall move Hagrid to the Forbidden Forest. Until then, he will rest on the fourth floor in a private room." He stepped down, indicating an end to the service.

"Harry, are you coming back to the Tower?" Hermione blew her nose into the wad of tissues she held.

"No, not right now. I have to go to the dungeons, get something straight."

"Oh… I hadn't wanted to mention it because of… everything, but what's going on? With you and Snape? Why did –"

Spotting Snape ushering Slytherins out of the Hall, Harry took her hands in his, gave a quick peck to her lips and said, "After I've talked to him, I'll tell you." When she opened her mouth, he quickly added, "Hermione, I really don't know what's going on. I just need to talk to Da – talk to the professor. I'll see you later."

"…All right," she said. Harry kissed her again before breaking away to approach Snape.

"Sir," he said, battling to keep his voice even, "could we talk, back ho – in your quarters?"

A muscle jumped in Snape's jaw and he nodded stiffly. "Yes… we do need to talk."

*WO

**Snape's Quarters, Hogwarts, March 1997 (16)**

The trek through the dungeons seemed to last an age, but once they reached Snape's sitting room, Harry wasted no time.

"What do you know about my parents' deaths?"

Snape froze, as if taken off guard. Then he slumped, a resigned, hollow look making his sharp features look ghoulish.

"What?" Harry said. "What is it?"

Snape's Adam's apple bobbed jerkily as he swallowed; Harry imitated him, trying to breathe around the constrictive lump in his own throat. Then Snape opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. _Snape speechless? _That portended nothing good and Harry's stomach twisted in on itself; he had to will himself not to vomit. Then the door opened and closed. Draco breezed into the room, then stopped when he caught sight of Harry.

"Potter. Did you –" Picking up on the strained tension, he took a moment to take in Snape's and Harry's pale faces. "What's happened?"

"Malfoy, get out." Harry choked.

"_What?_ Don't –"

"Draco, be quiet!" Snape inhaled sharply. "This is something you've both a right to know."

"NO!" Harry shouted. "I don't want him here!" He and Malfoy might no longer be on the verge of hexing one another senseless at the slightest prompting, but the Slytherin _definitely_ did not have the right to find out something devastating about Harry's parents at the same time he did!

"Fine," Draco said, staring at Harry's bloodless face. Though he was clearly bursting to know what was going on, he left the room. Harry waited until he heard the bedroom door click closed before turning back to Snape.

"Well?"

"I – The Dark Lord –" Snape inhaled deeply, then straightened up to his full height with his shoulders drawn stiffly back, as if bracing for a strike. "It was _I_ who told the Dark Lord about the prophecy. I overheard Albus interviewing Sibyll for the Divination post. Later… too late, I realized..."

He stopped, having either run out of words, or the breath to continue, but it didn't matter; Harry hadn't heard anything beyond the word 'prophecy.' Turning inward, tuning out the world, he wondered how he could not have known? God, he'd been in Snape's memories, he'd – '_Occluding is as natural to me as breathing, Potter…'_ Of course! Snape had let Harry see what he _wanted_ Harry to see, never wanting him to know the evil he had done!

_Snape_ had marked Harry and his parents for death. _Snape_ had tipped off Voldemort and Voldemort had come to Godric's Hollow with murder on his mind. _SNAPE!_

Harry blinked and reality fractured, taking pieces of his mind along as he began to rage, scream, and howl with grief for his lost parents, for the life he should have had, for the life of which he had been so ruthlessly robbed.

*WO

**Gryffindor Common Room, Hogwarts, March 1997 (16)**

Two third-year boys sitting on the sofa nearest the fireplace swore loudly when Draco's head suddenly materialized in a flash of green fire.

"You! Go get Granger!"

The boys stared at him, unimpressed with his anxious, not to mention, annoyingly entitled tone.

"What do you want with Hermione?" The boys turned to look up at the scowling redhead standing behind them.

"As fun as it would be to have a go at you, Weasley, I don't have time! Go get Granger!"

A fierce snort preceded the question: "Did your Pure-blood parents skimp on lessons in etiquette, Malfoy?"

"I told you I don't –" Draco jerked his head to the side, nearly out of the fire. His voice was muffled as he spoke to someone on his end. When he turned back, a growing crowd of Gryffindors was grumbling about a crazed Slytherin in their fire. "Ginny, _please_, just go get Granger!"

The boy looked positively frantic, and he'd used her name. "…All right."

Ginny sprinted across the room and up the stairs to the sixth-year girls' dorm.

"Ginny! What –" Hermione began.

"Malfoy's in the Floo!"

"Malfoy? Whatever for?"

"He asked for you. He looks… frightened."

"Harry…"

In the fire, Draco was turning his face out of the fire and then back, searching for Hermione. When he spotted her, he shouted, "Granger! Take this!" He threw a package at her, landing it at her feet, then he jerked his head out of the flames.

Hermione snatched up the package: Floo powder. She quickly flung a handful into the flames then stepped into them shouting, "Snape's quarters!"

*WO

Hermione stepped out of the fire into madness.

She knew this room, had been in it enough to know that everything save the sofa, chairs, and tables was flying about pell-mell. She cringed as vases and vials connected with a wall to shatter with a deafening crash, repair themselves, then begin the violent, destructive journey again. She managed to stay clear of the majority of objects, but cried out when a thick potions encyclopaedia nailed her on her hip.

Rubbing at the tender spot, Hermione looked over to see Snape and Malfoy standing side by side, staring at her. But in a chilling moment of clarity, she realized their eyes were not trained on her, but on something behind her. She turned and there stood Harry, pressed against the stone wall, sweating and trembling like a lamb to slaughter. Looking into his wide eyes, Hermione had to stuff a fist into her mouth: Harry's pupils had devoured his brilliant green irises, giving him the hollow, lifeless expression of a scarecrow. Trying desperately not to cry, Hermione stepped toward him.

"Harry…" She touched his cheek; it was like ice. Then, as if warmed by her touch, he whimpered; she wrapped her arms around him. "Oh, Harry, darling," she whispered, tightening her grip.

For a moment he tensed, then suddenly sagged against her. As he went, so did the whirlwind of objects, crashing to the floor where they lay in an untidy shambles.

"Potter," Draco said, stepping carefully over the mess until he reached the Gryffindors, "what in bloody hell are you playing at?"

"Shut up, Malfoy!" Harry rasped.

"Harry, what happened?" Hermione asked, moving her head back to see his face, but Harry would not meet her eyes.

"Nothing…"

"'_Nothing?'_ Are you kidding me? Harry –"

"I don't want to talk about it! I mean it Hermione!"

"Fine! But you made a huge mess of things down here!"

Harry reared back. "Oh, _I_ made a huge mess of things? Are you talking about this room or my life? Because I can tell you I DON'T GIVE A DAMN ABOUT THIS ROOM!"

Snape spoke: "Harry..."

"_DON'T!"_ Harry screeched, crazed; he began to tremble again. "DON'T YOU DARE! YOU FUCKING BASTARD! DON'T YOU EVER TALK TO ME AGAIN! _EVER!_" A rank chill rolled off him in bitter waves.

Undaunted, Snape began again. "Harry, I –"

Then it was all Hermione and Draco could do to stop Harry attacking the man. Snape—as if on autopilot—stepped forward to approach Harry, to comfort him, but Hermione shouted, "NO!" shocking the man into stillness.

"_GOD!_" Harry moaned. "How you must have _hated_ them…" He looked up at Snape, green eyes swimming with hatred. "Is it because she didn't want you? Is that it? Did you think _you _should have been my father? Did you think she'd ever let you lay a hand on –"

Before Harry could think to avoid it, the back of Snape's hand connected with his face, hard, rocking him backward, bloodying his lip.

"How dare you!" "What the hell?" Hermione and Draco yelled together.

Harry brought his fingers to his mouth; looking down at them, he saw that the tips of them came away red. Snape had never raised a hand to him, not even when Harry was certain he deserved it, but things had changed. He lifted his eyes to meet Snape's mortified gaze, a gaze that quickly transformed to one of terror as the man flew across the room in a hard rush of magic.

Hermione and Draco screamed as Snape jerked to a stop just inches from the cream colored stone wall. Draco made to rush to the man, but Snape croaked: "NO!" Draco froze and watched the man hanging, weightless, resigned. He whipped around to face Harry.

"Potter! Goddamn it! LET HIM GO!"

Harry ignored him.

"Harry!" Hermione cried.

Harry ignored her, too.

"Could'a killed you just then," he intoned flatly, gaze directed straight ahead at Snape. "Wanted to, wanted to so bad my hands hurt. But, I'm not like you. I could _never_ be like you! I'm glad, _so_ glad you're not my fath –"

Hermione clapped a hand over his mouth to silence him. Listening to him chilled her to the core as every word was thick with the darkest loathing, but Harry shook her off, gratified to see Snape looking as if he wanted to die. In a burst of vindictive inspiration, Harry knew what might just send the man on his way.

"Where is it?" He began to look about.

"What?" Hermione asked, dumbfounded.

"Where… _Accio _parchment!" A blizzard of random parchments flew at Harry, coming from all corners of Snape's quarters to strike the boy in the face, chest and stomach. Not spotting the one he wanted, he yelled: "No! _Accio_ stupid adoption parchment!"

"Oh, Harry, _no_!" Hermione cried.

Seconds later, Harry's face lightened with a wild, terrible glee as a gold colored sheet embossed with bold black lettering floated to the floor. Ignoring Draco's angry, disapproving hiss, Harry beckoned with his finger, sweeping Snape back to his original spot by the chair, positioning him so that the parchment lay in the chasm between his and Snape's feet.

"Look at me," Harry rasped.

Slowly, Snape raised his head, black eyes shimmering with a pain so deep Harry wavered, but that moment of weakness was followed by the incredulous thought of _How dare he! How dare he look so wounded and wronged! HE did this!_ _He_ had set James and Lily up, making them, like all game animals, ignorant of their part in the hunt, a hunt from which there was no chance of escape, no chance to truly fight back._ Murderer!_ _MURDERER!_

Despite his own rage and despite the pain evident in every cell of Snape's body, Harry felt obliged to retain eye contact with those dark eyes, eyes he had come to love; it took all his strength to form the word: _"Incendio!" _

Instantly the parchment began to crackle and pop. As it began to curl and blacken, Snape closed his eyes, then he fell back against the chair. In counterpoint Harry leaned forward, eyes wide, lips thinned in a pained grin. He had made the fire deliberately intense, so it didn't take long for the sheet to disintegrate. When the flames began to wane and sputter out, Harry spat at the mess. He then tried laughing at the smoking ruin, but it came out a sob.

"Oh, my God! I was so stupid! I was_ so stupid!_" Harry began to pound his temple with his fist, making a horrible, hollow thunking sound until Hermione grasped it in her hand and kissed it.

"Oh Harry, about what...?" she whispered.

"Everything, _everything_!" Harry said, then his mouth filled with water—that tell-tale sign that his stomach was about to empty itself. "I got to go."

"Where?" Draco asked, clearly of the mind that Harry needed to be in bed, under heavy sedation.

"Anywhere... A-anywhere bu –" Harry gulped, then he heaved and vomited.

Hermione struggled to reach her wand, but Draco was quicker and spelled the mess away. Hermione murmured her thanks, then gripped Harry about the waist to help him away from the wall, but without that support, his legs buckled underneath him. Unable to bear his weight by herself, Hermione looked over at Snape. Pale and boneless, he didn't move. She turned to Draco; he too looked to Snape. The man gave a nearly imperceptible nod and the boy moved to Harry's other side, reaching down to pull Harry up.

"Thank you," Hermione said, searching Draco's face. He shook his head, indicating he had no better idea of what had brought this on than she. He then cast a worried glance at Snape whose dark eyes followed them until they were out of sight. Then the man dragged his weary gaze back to the scattering of ashes at his feet.

*WO

**Gryffindor Tower, Hogwarts, March 1997 (16)**

"You know, the Floo, Potter? In wizarding circles it's known as an exceptionally expedient source of transport." Draco grunted as they staggered their way through the castle, imperiously ignoring the many odd glances.

"I didn't want to use _his_."

"Yes, I rather got that…" For a second Draco considered leaving things there, then thought better of it. "So, what was all that nonsense about, then? Why did you burn –"

"Drop it Malfoy!" Harry growled, his head drooping.

Hermione glanced over at the Slytherin and lifted her eyebrows. Draco lifted his in turn.

"Stop talking about me…" Harry muttered.

Draco rolled his eyes and gripped Harry's waist tighter as the boy began to flag. When they finally reached the Fat Lady, the portrait was opening; Ron stepped out.

"There you are! Harry, what's goin' on? Ginny said –"

"If you'd get out of the way," Draco sniped, "we could take him up to bed. In case you hadn't noticed, he's not up to standing here just now listening to your prattle!" Harry's head now hung limply against Draco's shoulder. "Nor am I for that matter!"

"Malfoy –"

"Stop it!" Hermione hissed. "Just shut up, both of you! Come on Harry..." She pulled him toward the entrance, leaving Draco no choice but to follow.

"Where do you think _you're_ going?" Ron snarled at the boy.

"Ron!" Hermione snapped. "Leave it!"

"Do make up your minds!" The Fat Lady huffed.

"You shouldn't even be here, Malfoy. Move... I'll take him." Ron shifted to insinuate his bigger body in front of Draco, trying to upset the Slytherin's balance so that he had no choice but to let go of Harry, but Ron hadn't counted on Draco's wiry strength. Effectively blocking Ron's progress with a quick jerk and a swift heel to Ron's shin, Draco won out.

"You touch him again Weasley and I'll hex your arse back to the Middle Ages where they made sport of connecting the dots on repulsively freckled redheads!"

Ron could only glare, white-lipped as the blond boy pushed past. When the portrait began to swing closed, Ron cursed and limp-stomped inside to follow.

*WO

Once Harry was settled in his four-poster, Draco said, "I should get back, see to the professor."

"Of course," Hermione said. "Thank you, Malfoy."

Ron snorted nastily when Draco dipped his head in a perfect, dignified display of Pure-blood elegance.

"Malfoy?"

"Potter?"

"Thanks… um, for… you know..."

"Eloquence will forever escape your grasp, won't it?" Draco smirked then his expression sobered. "When I asked what happened, I wasn't just being nosy."

Harry shrugged, then gave a reluctant nod when Hermione nudged him. Draco opened his mouth as though to say something, closed it as if he thought better of it, then turned to leave.

"Malfoy, wait…" said Hermione. "I'll be right back, Harry." She jumped off the bed to walk with Draco to the door. He stepped back to let her exit the room first.

"Slytherin sleaze bag!" Ron growled, looking as though he longed to punch something, namely Draco.

Hoping Ron wasn't winding himself up for some longwinded diatribe about the jillion ways in which he could murder Draco, Harry rolled onto his back and closed his eyes. He immediately wished he hadn't. The image of a dark-eyed man decked out in Death Eater garb, spiraling toward a roiling mass of evil, flashed through his mind. Harry cried out and instantly Ron was beside him, clutching his shoulder.

"What is it, mate? You need Pomfrey?"

"No," Harry managed, trying to stifle a groan as a stinging pain shot through his scar.

"…Snape?"

Shaking his head, Harry had to quell the mad urge to laugh at Ron's restraint in saying Snape's name, but then pain flared, again, white hot and blinding.

"_Gaah!_"

"I'm goin' to get Dumbledore." Ron rocked the bed as he got up.

"Don't!" Harry's hand shot out to grip Ron's wrist.

Then, body bowed impossibly, Harry screamed as his scar split open. Blood coursed down his face, clouding his vision as it flowed into his eyes; Ron cried out as Harry twisted his wrist.

"_Bloody_ –"

"_Weasley! What's – Merlin, Harry!"_

"_Get Pomfrey, now!"_

"_Snape, too!"_

Harry wanted to scream, 'No!', but instead fell into darkness.

*WO


	21. Chapter 21

Disclaimer: JK Rowling's characters.

**Hospital Wing, Hogwarts, March 1997 (21)**

Harry opened his eyes.

"Harry?"

It took a moment to respond; his throat hurt and he had to swallow first. "That's the second time you called me that," Harry rasped. "Bes' be careful… Might become habit."

"Not bloody likely," Draco muttered. "Though if you prefer, I could call you something more in keeping with your image—like… the Boy Who Lived in the Hospital Wing?"

With his lip curled, Harry slowly turned his head to squint at Draco's blurry figure. "How long it take you to come up with that one?"

"It's a gift," Draco said, gray eyes charting Harry's wobbly movements.

On the hunt for his glasses, the Gryffindor winced as he shifted about, his body dreadfully stiff and clumsy, like it hadn't been used in a while. Spotting the wire-rimmed frames on the bedside table he reached for them, except the farther he reached, the farther away the glasses seemed. With a groan of frustration he let his arm fall to the bed, then he shut his eyes and lay back, sucking in large gulps of air. When something landed on his stomach, he pawed about to find his glasses.

"Thanks," he said. After putting them on, he settled against his pillows, breathing shallowly.

With Harry at rest, Draco split his time glancing at his Potions text and glancing at Harry. When Harry coughed—a harsh, drawn out barking sound—Draco filled a glass with water from the pitcher on the bedside table. Harry lifted his hand to take hold of the glass, but noting the boy's tremulous state Draco pulled it out of reach. Once Harry realized what Draco intended, he relaxed and Draco brought the glass back, holding it so that he could take a long draught.

After several refreshing swallows, Harry grunted his thanks, then let his head fall back onto his pillows.

"Hungry?" Draco said.

Harry grimaced and waved his right hand in a 'no way' motion. Food was the last thing on his mind. At the moment, his head was throbbing, the unlovely result of the coughing spell.

"Pomfrey's going to be on you to eat something. You may as well spare yourself the speech: 'Potter, you are a patient here and I don't take cheek from anyone, particularly a student! Running round here, half dead, it's a disgrace!'" Draco shrieked in a spot on impression of the school nurse.

Despite how knackered he felt, Harry couldn't help it––he laughed, though it wasn't the first time Draco had made him laugh. In the days just after the Slytherin moved in to Snape's quarters, Harry had vacillated between his desire to despise the boy as he always had, and to despise him a little less for Snape's sake, but his disdain waned over time on its own, mostly because being roommates, they slowly became used to one another's personalities, but also because Draco could make him laugh. Not that he actively sought to amuse Harry, but without the intense bite of hatred behind them, Draco's insults could be pretty funny.

One night, Neville and Ron had come down to the dungeons to revise for an Herbology exam. Inexplicably, they had wound up discussing the merits, or lack thereof, of Professor Sprout's beauty. Finding the topic disturbing and ridiculous, Draco kept quiet, save a few annoyed sighs, but then Neville claimed that the Herbology professor's looks were an acquired taste, "like a fine wine." Unable to hold his tongue any longer, Draco asked Neville if his Gran—the eccentric Augusta Longbottom—had fouled up at a family feast and served him cat piss instead of wine.

In mid-crunch of a crisp, Harry nearly choked as he burst into laughter; Neville had reddened to the point of rivaling Ron at his most notably embarrassed; and Ron had looked at Draco with something akin to admiration at the crude comparison.

Now, though, Harry's tired smile broadened when Madam Pomfrey materialized from behind the drawn curtain. The boys' voices had traveled down to her office, alerting her of Harry's wakefulness, but Draco's shrill impression had drowned out her approach.

"I daresay Mr. Malfoy," Pomfrey said with a perturbed sniff, "Celestina Warbeck fans would have great difficulty distinguishing her screeching tones from yours."

"Begging your pardon, Madam," Draco said with a cool, but abashed nod. He shot a glare at Harry when the boy snickered.

"Yes, well… as for you, Mr. Potter, I shall bring you a tray and I expect you to eat." Pomfrey turned, mumbling as she bustled away. 'Disgrace, indeed,' floated back to the boys. They glanced at each other, then broke out into simultaneous snorts.

Draco recovered first. "…Want to talk about it?"

Harry's easy grin faded, morphing into a sour, confused look; he knew exactly what Draco meant by 'it'.

"No, Malfoy… Look, why are you here?"

"Ah, well, the Gryffindor babysitting pool doesn't allow for round the clock care, so I offered to take a shift. …You've been here nearly a week."

"A week?" Harry squeaked, and bolted upright, grimacing against the fierce aches hollowing out his joints. "What time is it? What _day_ is it?"

"Five o'clock, Friday."

"Bloody hell! I'm gettin' outta here!" Despite being weak as a newborn kitten, he struggled to free himself of the sheet trapping him so that he could swing his legs over the side of the bed. Draco rose to block his progress.

"Pomfrey's not likely to release you until tomorrow."

"I don't care! I want out of here now. I'm not sick!"

"Potter, you _are_ sick!" Draco hissed. "You used an extraordinary amount of magic..."

Harry stopped struggling to look up at Draco's frowning face.

"…and you hurt the professor." When Harry's eyes widened in alarm, Draco raised a hand. "Not physically—but that stunt you pulled with nearly crashing him into the wall was bloody, fucking well out of order –"

Harry blinked in disbelief. "Oh, what_ I_ did was out of order?"

"Yes, and if you ever do such a thing again, don't count on me being of any help to you! He's an absolute shambles. I thought he was bad after the attack in Hogsmeade, but this is something else. I've _never_ seen the professor like this."

"'_The professor'_ is a right bastard and just now I could give a good goddamn about him!"

"That 'bastard' has been here at your side since Weasley and I brought you down here last Sunday! In fact, he never left until yesterday morning when Dumbledore forced him to go." Draco jerked his head toward the foot of Harry's bed. "I thought they were going to duel it out right here because he didn't want to leave. And all the time you've been unconscious, he was loath to let anyone touch you, even Pomfrey. He did _everything_!"

"I never asked him to! If I'd been awake I'd have told him to piss the fuck off! I don't need him!"

"Look, I don't know what he did –"

"That's right! You don't know –"

"– but whatever it was, he regrets it."

"Regret?" Harry snarled. "He doesn't regret anything! He's _evil_!"

Draco's gray eyes went cold. "You want to be more careful with who you call evil, Potter."

"You don't know what he did!"

"Then tell me! What did he do? Why are you acting like he –" Draco frowned, and flapped his hands, fishing about for the most ludicrous outcome he could think of, "– like he murdered your parents or something?"

Harry paled, lost his breath.

"Oh, Merlin." Draco swallowed. "Potter, _tell_ me what happened."

Harry slumped back against his pillows and stared sightlessly at the ceiling. "Don't worry about it, Malfoy. You wouldn't understand."

"You… You _really_ think he did something to your parents? That he had something to do with the Dark Lord –"

"All you need to know is that he's evil and I hate him."

"Stop being ridiculous! He adopted you, and you signed on with him, you agreed to it, so I know you don't believe what you're saying!" Draco pinched his lips together, speaking as if each word cost him a bit of his soul. "You call him _'Dad'_ from the safety of your dreams—or nightmares—depending on the sort of day you've had, for Merlin's sake!"

With no defense for the ugly truth of Draco's words, Harry flushed and lowered his eyes.

Draco continued. "You know what true evil is, you faced it as a baby and you've faced every bloody year that you've been here at Hogwarts…"

"Don't, Malfoy," Harry said coldly. "Don't pretend to know how I feel or what I've been through. In fact, just… go away."

Draco swallowed, his brow creased in a sad frown. "For what it's worth, Potter, I do have a clue of how you're feeling, and I refuse to believe Snape had anything to do with your parents' deaths."

"I really don't care what you believe." Harry sounded exhausted and completely unmoved by Draco's heavy tone.

"Potter, you –" Draco began, just as Madam Pomfrey returned.

"Here you are, Mr. Potter," she sang, drifting toward Harry's bed, a tray filled to the brim with food floating before her. "White potion before you eat." Directing the tray to rest on his lap she gestured to the vial. Once Harry emptied it, she said, "Take the blue one when you've finished."

She then fussed about, tucking his covers underneath the mattress, sandwiching him in so tightly he feared a loss of circulation to his legs.

"There," she said, slapping her palms over the foot of the bed, crushing stubborn lumps of blanket into flat planes. "Much better! Now… I let Professor Snape know you were awake so –"

She broke off, distracted by the muffled crunch of glass breaking. She turned, wand raised, anticipating having to clear up whatever mess Draco had made; instead, she saw Harry, ghostly-white, his hand gushing blood, jagged remnants of the potions vial sticking haphazardly out of his palm. Then all the empty beds on the ward began to clack, rattle, and roll, creating an eerie, percussive racket.

Within seconds, Draco lurched to his feet, tripping over his Potions book in the rush to get to Harry's side. With a fierce shove, he sent the tray of food flying, then gripped Harry by the shoulders and began shaking him, making Harry's head roll and snap. It looked painful, yet Harry sat unblinking, seemingly beyond all reason.

"Potter, stop it! Stop it! Listen to me, whatever he did, whatever it was, it-it was a mistake, Pot – _Ow!"_

The water pitcher and glass on the side table had shattered, with fragments exploding out to pierce all available flesh. When empty pitchers on other side tables began to break, one after the other, Draco slapped Harry—hard. Instantly, the beds stilled, and the three occupants' harsh breathing was the only sound in the cavernous chamber. With the blood red imprint of Draco's hand standing out in stark relief on his cheek, Harry sat staring at the Slytherin's bleeding face and neck.

"Oh my!" Madam Pomfrey gasped, lightly fingering the shallow cuts on her own face.

"Potter?" Draco leaned toward Harry, gray eyes bright with concern; Harry had not been spared the shower of glass either, with the right side of his face, neck, and arm sporting many lacerations.

Though Harry would rather have dueled Voldemort naked in front of the whole school than cry in front of Malfoy, when his eyes connected with Draco's, he burst into scalding tears.

"I can't!" He cried. "I _can't!_" His chin collapsed against his chest and he began to clutch at the sheets with his uninjured hand, wringing them in desperate clumps.

Horrifyingly out of his element in dealing with a sobbing Harry Potter, Draco kept quiet, stoically resigned to squeezing Harry's shoulders, oblivious of the stinging sensation of glass embedded in his own face, neck, and arm.

"Why?" Harry sobbed. "Why did he do it?"

Draco shook his head. Harry seemed to truly believe that Snape had had something to do with his parents' deaths; Draco couldn't fathom it. "I – I don't know," he said, being honest, but also desperate to appease Harry, to keep him calm.

"Oh, gods, I _hate_ him!" As Harry spoke, his skin became suddenly and unnaturally hot to the touch, as if his rage was trying to push its way out of his skin.

Draco gave a startled cry and let go of the boy's shoulders, then he looked down at his palms. They were tinged a rosy hue and warm, far from their typically cool, pale state. Then he looked back up at Harry. He had seen the boy angry, had even been on the receiving end of his anger, but outside of that boggling showdown with Snape nearly a week ago, he had never seen Harry filled with such blatant, frightening hatred. The damage Harry could do should that naked rage be unleashed was beyond Draco's imagining; Voldemort surely wouldn't stand a chance. Regardless, that hateful mask looked wrong on Harry Potter.

Copping a glance at Draco, Harry laughed, an empty, knowing sound that unnerved the Slytherin even more.

"Scared, Malfoy?"

Suddenly angry, Draco balled his hands into fists. "Your fits of temper are just that, Potter, fits! You're like an infant! Why don't you grow up!?"

Harry opened his mouth, a scathing reply at the ready, but what came out was: "Because it was all a lie—an awful, disgusting lie."

"…What was?"

"Everything," Harry said, "the adoption, last summer…" He lay back and turned on his side; he cursed when a sliver of glass burrowed deeper into his arm.

Madam Pomfrey moved like a shot, wand drawn to direct it over Harry's injuries. She did the same to Draco, then Summoned Murtlap Essence from her office and gently applied it to both boys' skin. She had witnessed her fair share of drama within these walls, but without fail, the most devastating occurrences seemed to always involve Harry Potter. The same could be said, she realized, of Snape when he was a student. Both wizards had experienced childhood trauma no child should be subjected to, but while they had hardship in common, they were also fantastically resilient, able to bounce back from most any trial. Though she had no idea what had gone on between the two wizards a week ago, she began to wonder if the strength of that resilience would hold true now.

When Dumbledore told Snape that Harry had been brought to the hospital wing, the man essentially set up camp next to Harry's bed, daring anyone to stupidly suggest that he leave. During the week Harry had been in hospital, his friends had all stopped by, offering—practically begging—Snape to take a break. Unsurprisingly, Snape refused, repeatedly, convinced that Harry would need something in his absence, that he might awaken, and ask for him, or that he might even—Merlin forbid—worsen in that time away from him.

When Pomfrey mentioned that he ought to be taking better care of himself, Snape calmly threatened to hex her senseless if she didn't stop trying to 'bleed' his eardrums with her 'wretched nagging.' Incensed, she opened her mouth to fire back with several colorful suggestions of where he could insert a great many potions vials, but then Snape, having already tuned her out, began plucking at Harry's covers, straightening them and tucking them around the boy as he mumbled softly to him. Then he began to stroke Harry's face, paying obsessive attention to the lightning bolt scar. She left him alone after that, though she did draw the line at letting him bully her or interfere when it came to administering care to Harry.

Dumbledore, however, had no compunction about approaching Snape. Leading the Order to combat Voldemort's gains swamped the old wizard's time, but he made a point to stop by each day to check on both Harry and Snape, knowing that as long as Harry remained asleep, Snape would not leave his side. Rooted at Harry's bedside, Harry's limp hand in his, Snape left only to visit the loo––but only after demanding that someone park themselves beside Harry for the quick minute he was gone. Four times daily Dobby popped in with trays laden with meals for him, but Snape simply picked at them, his eyes on Harry, anxiously primed for any sign of waking. Wringing his thin hands, Dobby eyed the Potions master, worried, as he asked after Harry.

"He's fine, Dobby," Snape told the little creature.

And basically that was true; Harry remained virtually unchanged, nourished as he was by various potions and spells, but Snape grew gaunter as the days passed, and his fuse—shortened to the point of dangerous because of concern for Harry combined with a lack of food and sleep—ignited on Ron on Thursday morning. In response, Ron thundered up to the headmaster's office, complaining that Snape had threatened to put his boot so far up Ron's arse, he would need a Niffler to dig it out if the boy kept insisting that he leave Harry. That was the final straw for Dumbledore.

"Severus, I would like a word with you, in my office, please."

"Whatever you have to say, you can say it here, Headmaster. I'll not leave him." Voice raspy with fatigue, Snape's eyes remained glued to Harry's sleeping face.

"I want to speak with you _about_ Harry in my office."

Inexplicably, Snape became frantic whipping around in his chair to face Dumbledore. "What is it? Has Poppy shared something with you that she hasn't told me?" Snape craned his head toward Pomfrey's office. "Poppy? Poppy!" He shouted. "Damn that blasted witch!"

Dumbledore inhaled sharply, frowning at the Potions master's mad behavior. Draco, who had stopped by to check on Snape, watched his Head of House, wide-eyed with a mix of disbelief, fear, pity, and a grudging embarrassment.

"Mr. Malfoy, would you mind waiting outside, please." Noting Draco's expression, Dumbledore spoke softly, but firmly, in an effort to get Draco to tear his gaze from Snape who was still craning his head impossibly, trying to see into Pomfrey's office.

Then, surprising everyone, Harry moaned.

All three wizards spun about to look at him, holding their breaths, waiting for Harry to open his eyes, but he simply frowned and reflexively squeezed Snape's hand before falling still. Entranced, they continued to watch him for several more minutes, but he never moved again.

"See!" Snape snapped, wrenching around to eye Dumbledore angrily. "You wanted me to leave! I would have missed that! I would have missed him waking up!"

Dumbledore narrowed his eyes. "Severus, he is not awake—point of fact, we do not know _when_ he will wake. In the meantime, you must see to yourself! Since Harry fell ill you have not taught a class, taken a proper meal, and the ridiculous amount that you do sleep, slumped over in that chair is –"

"Harry needs me!"

"Yes, of course he does, but you cannot remain at his side day and night and expect to be helpful!"

"Do not presume to tell me how to care for my son, Albus, not when he needs me the most! I can do this. Just leave me alone! I can do this, I can. For him, I can. I have to…" Looking completely unhinged, Snape began to mutter repeatedly: "I have to. I owe him."

Snape's distraught state made Draco's chest hurt and his eyes burn as they filled with angry tears, and he wondered: _What is going on?_ He thought back to the night McGonagall broke the news about Hagrid. Harry's behavior had been, understandably, strained, but then Draco had woken in the middle of the night to find the boy gone. Rising from his bed, he had padded into the sitting room, thinking that Harry might be curled up on the sofa or laid out on Fang in front of the fire. He didn't find Harry, but he did find Snape. The man was sitting, frowning as he stared into the fire, a long index finger running stiffly over his lips, back and forth, like a Muggle windshield wiper.

"Professor?"

"Yes?" Snape said, never ceasing his motions.

"Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, Draco. It's nearly 4:30, what are you doing up?"

"Potter's not in his bed."

Snape's finger stopped moving and he looked to stop breathing.

"I see," he said. Just as Draco opened his mouth to demand an explanation, Snape stood. The movement seemed to bleed him of energy so that when he released the armrests, without that stability to bear his weight, he wobbled a bit. He took a moment to steady himself, then turned to leave the room. Quiet, Draco trailed him into the hall, then watched the man shuffle robot-like to his bedroom and close the door.

Lost in that remembrance, Draco had failed to realize that Dumbledore had moved. The old wizard was edging soundlessly toward Snape, his long, thin hands stretched out, barely two feet from Snape's shoulders. But even in his depleted state Snape was too sharp, too well-trained, and far too paranoid to be taken by surprise. In a flash he was on his feet, wand trained unflinchingly on the headmaster. Draco's eyes widened and his hands jerked out as if to ward Snape off.

"Albus, if you touch me, if you try and put me to sleep, I will be forced to fight you." Snape spoke deliberately, with not a trace of the earlier mania in his voice. Dumbledore stopped in his tracks; he knew Snape meant it.

"Severus, you _must_ rest!"

"Yes, I know…" Snape said with a nod. "I will… when he wakes up." Then he gingerly resettled himself in his chair, his dark eyes on Harry, _always_ on Harry.

And now that the boy was awake, Pomfrey hated that, for all his stubborn dedication, Snape had missed it. But Draco had been at Harry's side, which surprised her. Like the others, he had frequented the ward all week, but she knew it was more for Snape than Harry. Still she had noticed a change in the boys' behavior before now. They looked to have managed something like a truce since becoming roommates, a change that struck her as a hopeful omen during these uncertain times.

"I'll fetch you another tray, Mr. Potter," she said, after clearing up the mess on the side table. Then she waved her wand like a whip, snapping the disordered beds back into place before eyeing Harry sharply. "I expect you to exert a modicum of control over yourself, understood?" When Harry bobbed his head up and down numbly, she marched off to her office.

Staring at a fleck of blood spoiling a fold in the sheet, Harry whispered: "I thought I was special."

Draco snorted softly. "To some in the wizarding world you are," he said, falling a hairsbreadth shy of not sounding bitter.

"No!" Harry said, though it was nearly a moan. "Special because _he _wanted to adopt me."

"As if you needed him for that," Draco said. Harry cast him an angry glare. "You know it's true. You're nearly of age. And you said it yourself, you don't need him; he can piss the fuck off. So, why are you so upset?"

"Go to Hell, Malfoy."

"Mm, original, that." Draco expelled a breath, communicating how put upon he felt. "Because I don't know what exactly is going on between you two, and because I care about him, and you mean a lot to him, I'm going to say this, but only this once: you're lucky, Potter. I know Snape, and he would never have considered adopting you—a thing so… out of this world—unless he _wanted_ to do it. When I found out, I was angry… and rather jealous."

"Jealous? Why?"

"I figured since he's _my_ Head of House, it should have been me considering the problems I was having with my own father."

"What? Lucius cut you out of the will or something?"

Draco made a rude gesture. "You're an absolute troll, you know that? I know I've a reputation for being shallow, but give me a little credit for having an ounce of feeling where family is concerned! I would never disown my father over something as ridiculous as being disinherited! You know what he is... Disinheritance is the _least_ of my worries."

"Yeah... sorry, so, what happened with it—you and your father?"

"Don't ask," Draco said flatly. "You don't feel like sharing, nor do I."

Freshly healed, Madam Pomfrey rounded the corner to set a new tray on Harry's lap. When it became clear she wasn't leaving until Harry at least picked up his fork, Draco said, "I'll make sure he eats something."

"See that you do, Mr. Malfoy. And the blue –"

"– is for after."

Pomfrey sniffed at Draco's haughty tone and turned on her heel. Just as she disappeared into her office, the doors to the ward swished open. Ginny Weasley gasped loudly.

"Harry! How long have you been awake?" She ran to stand at the foot of his bed.

Harry remained mute, morosely poking his food with his fork; Draco looked at him and then at Ginny and said, "About an hour or so. You come to take over?"

"I can. I just dropped in to see who was here. I thought it was Ron's turn."

"Longbottom stopped by, said the idiot had detention with your brother. Something about overfeeding some valuable Bugbears."

Ginny tossed her hair over her shoulder, laughing. "Typical."

Harry sighed, and laid his head back against his pillows. "I don't need anyone to sit with me. I'm not a baby."

"You certainly do a bang up impression of one." Draco scowled. "You need to eat something, you moody arse, even if it's just that chicken leg!"

Ginny huffed softly. "Merlin, such a mother hen, you are."

"Have a care, Weasley."

"Well, simply for the sake of argument, Harry," Ginny said, hoisting herself up to sit at his feet, "Malfoy's right." She shot the Slytherin a withering look when his expression turned smug.

"I did not say that Charlie went easy on you because you're his brother!" Hermione said, as if for the hundredth time as she and Ron burst through the ward's swinging doors.

"Well, he didn't!" Ron blustered, red-faced in trying to make his point. "He made me clean up all the exploded ones and bloody bury them, too! That snow was up to my waist!" He leveled his hand at his hip, wanting Hermione to be clear on just how deviously high the snow had been, but her attention was elsewhere.

"Oh, Harry! You're awake!" She rushed over, and bent down to kiss him lightly on the lips. She then slipped her mittens off and began to stroke his face and hair.

He closed his eyes at her touch and held her to him when she tried to straighten up. He gave a sigh of content when she settled against him, her breath huffing deliciously warm against his neck. Between her caressing his hair and whispering in his ear, it wasn't long before he began to drift off. Then Ron cleared his throat, loudly. Hermione sat up, face flushed, and eyes bright.

"Er, s'good to see you're back with us, mate, but uh, you planning on eatin' any of that?" Ron pointed at the tray of food.

"No," Harry said. Ron reached for the tray.

"Oh no you don't, you human Crup!" Draco swatted at Ron's hands.

"Oy! Malfoy, bloody –"

"Potter needs to eat!" Draco snarled.

"It's been nearly a week since Harry's last real meal, Ron," Ginny said. "Don't be such a pig."

"Blimey, sorry mate," Ron said sincerely, though his eyes were still on the steaming tray of food; he'd worked up a fierce appetite digging in that snow.

"Go on, I'm not hungry." Harry turned his attention back to Hermione who was searching his face, gauging his mood. As he reached to trace the soft outline of her lips, red and plump from kissing him, Ron and Draco began arguing. Just as the rowing crescendoed into an all-out war of colorful expletives, and snarls, Dumbledore entered the ward.

"Children." The wizard's commanding voice cut easily through the din.

Red-faced and harassed, Madam Pomfrey appeared.

"That's it!" She declared. "Potter is no longer allowed more than one visitor at a time! He's not eaten –"

"No thanks to the bottomless pit!" Draco glowered at Ron.

"Thut it, Malfoy!" Ron said, around a mouthful of potato. "He thaid he wathn't hung –"

"I need to have a word with Harry." Dumbledore interrupted.

"But –" Ron began.

"You may visit him later—one at a time."

Ginny gently tapped Harry's foot, then jumped down from the bed. "Bye, Harry."

"I'll be back in a bit, okay?" Hermione whispered before giving him a soft peck on the lips.

"Cheers, mate," said Ron, raising a chicken leg at Harry. He then elbowed Draco in the shoulder to get him moving.

The blond scowled up at Ron, but surprisingly, he didn't retaliate. Before leaving, he shot a crisp nod at Harry.

Dumbledore pulled up a chair. "Harry, I have spoken with Severus." Harry rolled his eyes as if he could care less, but his stomach took a nose dive at mention of the man. "I regret terribly what transpired. You were not meant to find out in such a fashion," Dumbledore said.

"Oh? How exactly _should_ the subject have come up? As a bedtime story? Over dinner? 'Oh yes, Potter, there's a bit of a sticky situation I forgot mention… I killed your parents!'"

When Dumbledore gave no immediate response, Harry went on. "I s'pose I shoulda listened to you, huh? When you were fighting the adoption? Why didn't you just tell me why you didn't want me to do it? Why do you always have to be so bleeding cryptic with _everything_? You knew that just saying no wouldn't make me change my mind, but telling me that he'd killed my parents would have stopped me cold."

"I have made a mountain of mistakes where you are concerned, Harry, but ultimately, it was not my place to tell you—it was Severus's. But, I can understand his thinking as he had no reason to think that secret would see the light of day. Harry, he never expected to fall in love with you, to want to adopt you, nor to have you agree to be adopted. Having said that, I know you, and I know that despite everything, you can find it in your heart to forgive him."

"Forgive?! Why do you care if I forgive him or not? I figured you'd be glad I'm away from him. Frees me up so that you can try to get your hooks into me again, but you know what? I won't let you! I may be screwed up, but I'm nothing like him. I don't call my friends Mud-blood; I won't join up with a madman who kills for sport! And I don't hold grudges that help me justify killing a family!"

"Harry –" Dumbledore interjected, but Harry was on a roll, determined to excise the anger feasting away at his insides.

"Forgive! Did he forgive you for not sticking up for him after what happened in the Shrieking Shack?" Dumbledore blanched and drew his lips tightly together. Buoyed at having found a chink in Dumbledore's self-righteous armor, Harry continued. "Sirius tried to play it off as kids being kids, but you let them get away with murder, or something close to it, because it gave you power over_ him_, didn't it? Turned him into a conniving, lying, fraud 'cause that's all he's ever been, isn't it? It made him the perfect spy, eh?"

Swallowing, Harry said, "If you cut yourself, I can fix it. Did you know that? Didn't think so. He was all too happy to keep that secret from you! He also believed that you feared my powers. I never did, though, because _you_ are the most powerful wizard I…" He stopped suddenly, sucked in a deep breath, and closed his eyes, tight. "Why couldn't you have saved them? _All_ of them? Why does it have to be like this? WHY?!"

"Oh, my dear boy!" Dumbledore whispered.

Harry clapped his hands over his ears, desperate to block out the anguish filling Dumbledore's voice. Instead, all he heard was: _'It was I who told the Dark Lord. It was I who told the Dark Lord. It was I who told –'_

With a groan, he collapsed over the side of the bed, wanting to escape that pain, but Dumbledore was sitting there, a hurt and ruined expression on his tired, old face; Harry decided to make it count because, why should he and Snape be the only ones to suffer? Dumbledore had known, had held the truth back, just as Snape had. No matter how he tried to rationalize it, he had known, and had chosen to say nothing.

Looking every inch the predator stalking a juicy bit of prey Harry said: "I used think you could do no wrong, even when you made me go back to Surrey every summer. You knew I hated it there, but I bore it, thinking you knew best. But you didn't, did you? So Da –, Sn –," Harry growled, "so _he _betrayed me and you tried to get him to tell the truth. Well what of your betrayals? You can't be all squeaky clean… or, maybe you can since it's always _him_ you send to do your dirty –"

"That's enough!"

At the sound of that voice, Harry nearly fell out of the bed. Snagging the mattress's edge to stop himself crashing headlong into the flagstone, he whipped about to see Snape standing at the foot of the bed, pale, livid. Digging his nails into the mattress so hard it hurt, Harry was overcome with wanting to either throw himself into the man's arms or call forth the Killing Curse; he settled for breathing heavily and looking as though he had just discovered dragon dung in his mouth.

"No, Severus…" Dumbledore managed. "Harry's feelings are quite understandable,"

"Especially as I don't tend to enjoy the company of bald faced liars or cold-blooded murderers," the boy spat, straightening up to face Snape. "I should have left you to die in that forest."

"Harry!" Dumbledore roared.

Harry ignored the old wizard's shocked and angry expression, but the tight pang of guilt and hurt on Snape's face made it hard to breathe, bringing Harry's own guilt and hurt for having caused that emotion to the surface. But it didn't matter. It couldn't because Harry wanted to stay angry—he _needed_ to stay angry, if only to crush that tiny spark of love and neediness Snape's presence wrought. If he let himself, he could almost feel Snape's fingers lightly scratching his scalp, and rubbing his back; he could almost hear that soothing, silken baritone telling him that everything would be okay, that he was safe. But the overriding emotion just then was an undeniable emptiness. Another family turned to ash, because _how_ could he forgive such a betrayal?

The blood had drained from Snape's face; Harry curled his lips into a vicious smile. He thought, or rather hoped the man might keel over in a dramatic swoon, but Snape kept his feet, his jaw and shoulders squared for more abuse. Annoyed, and ashamed, Harry banished the food tray with a wave of his hand, then made a show of straightening his covers.

"I'm tired," he said, clasping his hands together so that they couldn't betray their trembling.

"Of course…" Dumbledore said. "Let us leave him to rest, Severus. He is obviously not feeling himself just now." Dumbledore stood, then reached to touch Harry's shoulder. As soon as his hand landed, he hissed and snatched it back, cradling it against his chest.

"Albus?" Snape stepped around the bed to stand next to the old wizard. Dumbledore stared at Harry, astonished.

"It is nothing…" he gasped.

"Let me see." Snape took Dumbledore's wrist, then gently prised open his hand, revealing an angry red, blistered palm. "What –?" Snape's eyes snapped onto Harry who shrugged unconcernedly.

"I told him I was tired."

"Harry –"

"_DON'T _call me that! _Just._ _Get. Out._"

Of all the times for Snape to use his name, of all the times Harry had thirsted for his given name to fall from Snape's lips, he couldn't bear the sound of it just then—not when the man sounded so heart-broken, so horrified. When the door swished closed behind the two wizards, Harry buried his face in his pillow and unleashed a mournful wail.

*WO

**Hagrid's Hut, Hogwarts, March 1997 (22)**

After repeated demands from Pomfrey that he, "Take it easy," Harry—instead of going straight away to Gryffindor Tower as promised—suffered the lingering cold and snow to make his way to Hagrid's hut, and Charlie.

"Harry!" Charlie's brilliant grin dissolved into a frown once he got a proper look at the boy. Harry stood on the hut's steps, teeth chattering, head uncovered, and legs coated with snow as vicious blasts of wind rocked him back and forth.

"What in bloody hell you doin' out in this mess?" Charlie scolded. "And with nothin' on but your school robes? Get in here, get in here!" The redhead quickly shuttled Harry inside the toasty hut and shut the door. Then he grabbed a large rug off the bed to throw around Harry's shoulders. "You must'a just left the hospital wing, didn't you?"

"Yeah." Harry sniffled as Charlie dragged his big hands up and down his arms and back, warming him, nearly lifting him off his feet with each vigorous pass.

"Well, what –"

"I need your help, Charlie."

"Anything, Harry," Charlie said. His blue eyes (so like Ron's) crinkled with concern, clearly wondering what had upset the boy so to drive him out into this bitter weather.

"I need to talk to Aberforth Dumbledore."

Charlie's face went slack and his hands fell from Harry's shoulders. "How d' you imagine I'd know how to get in touch with him? Shouldn't you be asking the headmaster –"

Harry's face flushed with anger. "No!"

"Harry –"

"He's in the Order, isn't he? You can ask round, can't you? He went into hiding after the attack in Hogsmeade!"

"He is, I can, and I know he did, but Harry –" Charlie ran his thick fingers through his hair, acting as if Harry had asked him to conjure a boatload of heroin for him to snort.

"Please, Charlie! It's important… I wouldn't ask otherwise."

When Harry's eyes flooded with tears, Charlie laid a hand on his cheek and stroked gently. For all of Charlie's rough and tumble image, he had the softest nature and touch of anyone Harry knew.

"Bloody hell, Harry… What's goin' on?"

"I just—I really need to talk to him…" Harry swiped a hand beneath his nose, hoping Charlie would just give in, and save Harry having to seek out another Order member to help him. Plus, Harry figured Charlie had to know where Aberforth was. At Christmas, the old wizard had mentioned how often Charlie stopped by for a pint after a rough day of teaching; they became friendly during those visits.

Charlie's jaw muscles worked as he considered the distraught boy before him, then he heaved a sigh that said, "Aw, to Hell with it!" Turning to the mantle above the fireplace, he grabbed a handful of Floo powder, then knelt down and tossed it into the fire.

"The Glass Hoof!"

Seconds later, Harry heard: "Charlie Weasley! Wat in blue blazes yeh –"

"Hey, Ossie," Charlie said quickly, hoping to staunch Ossie's propensity to chin on about nothing in particular. "Look, uh, is Aberforth around?"

"Around? He ain't like ter be out gallivantin' about, now is he?" Ossie, the Glass Hoof's Watchman, wheezed with laughter.

Charlie forced out a chuckle. "No, not likely at all, but I need to speak with him. It's important."

"Importan', eh? Yeh ain't –"

"Ossie, is it Luna for me?"

"Nah, Xeno, it's a Weasley—Charlie! Says he needs to parley with Ab –" Ossie was again interrupted, this time by a raspy voice Harry recognized instantly. He fell to his knees beside Charlie just in time to see Aberforth nudge Ossie out of the fire.

"Aberforth!"

There came a harsh gasp and then, "_Harry_?"

Quick as a Snitch, Harry darted forward as if to climb through the fire into the old wizard's arms, but he was thwarted when Charlie grabbed him about the waist, both he and Aberforth breaking out into simultaneous shouts of "No!" Once Charlie settled Harry back, Aberforth, sounding a bit breathless, said, "Charlie, I know this might be a bit out of order, but I'd like a word with Harry alone."

"Bah! 'Course. I've got to mind the Skrewts for a bit, anyway. Good seein' you, Ab."

"And you. Thank you, Charlie."

Charlie gave Harry a hearty pat on the back and got up to leave. As soon as the door closed, he said, "Did you know that –?" Without waiting for him to finish, Aberforth nodded. Harry gaped, outraged. "Everyone knew, but _me_?"

The old wizard shook his head. "Only Severus, Albus, and me, and I only knew because my brother conducted Sybill's interview at the pub. I recognized Severus when he came in, but ever since he'd taken up with Riddle, he'd made himself scarce – I rarely saw him. I... I had a bad feeling when he stumbled in that night. He fairly stank of desperation and he looked a little mad. He made his way upstairs, but it wasn't long before he ran out like the Grey Lady was after him..."

"I bet! He couldn't wait to let Voldemort know about the prophecy!"

"The night your parents died, Severus went to my brother to confess all. Then and there, Albus demanded, as a sort of penance, that Severus spy on Voldemort for the Order. He agreed, of course, but afterwards, he came to me, out of sorts, devastated at what had happened in Godric's Hollow, knowing that if not for having shared that prophecy, Lily would be alive."

"Devastated, huh? More like bloody relieved Dumbledore took him back! The only reason he turned spy was because he burned Voldemort by running to Dumbledore after burning Dumbledore by running his mouth about that stupid prophecy! You think _Voldemort_ would have taken him back for a second chance if he'd known?"

Aberforth sighed. "Harry, lad, I understand how you're feeling."

"How could you? He betrayed my parents! _He_ got them killed!"

"When a family member does something so hurtful, so far outside the realm of comprehension, it can be a hard thing to swallow," Aberforth said. Harry snorted, his stomach roiling and burning at Aberforth's use of 'family member'. "Yes, Severus's behavior at the time was abominably selfish, but he made amends, as best he could."

"Of course you'd defend him!" Harry burst out. "Well, he doesn't deserve it! I hate him!"

The lines deepened around Aberforth's eyes as they searched Harry's. "You've every right to your feelings, Harry, but, you don't mean that… You don't hate him... Do you?"

Harry opened his mouth to shout, "Yes!", but nothing came out.

Nodding in that all-knowing way that seemed annoyingly inherent in Dumbledore men, Aberforth said, "Before this summer, Severus would have borne your hatred and not thought a second about it. Now it would utterly destroy him to hear you say such a thing."

"Good," Harry spat. "Because I mean it... I do!" He raised his eyes to glare at Aberforth, but the most he could manage was a confused cocktail of pain and confusion. Aberforth remained silent, letting Harry work things out—a tactic Snape had learned last summer at Soth-ince and had since shared with the barkeep.

After several minutes of fierce, inner debate, Harry whispered, "He adopted me… Why would he do that?"

"Why indeed?" Aberforth said softly.

Harry grimaced at the smile in the old wizard's voice because, like Aberforth, he knew precisely why Snape had adopted him.

"Harry, Severus thought long and hard about it, wondering if it was the right thing to do, especially as he hadn't told you the truth of what he'd done. But when you agreed, he was willing to risk it, hoping that when the time came—if the time came—he'd have the strength to tell you his darkest secret."

"Why not tell me straight off?"

"Would you have wanted to be adopted, then?"

"No!"

"Why not?"

"You _have_ been listening, haven't you? He KILLED my parents!"

"Unfortunately, Severus played his part, Harry, but_ Voldemort _killed your parents." Aberforth paused, squinting. "You know, before you two popped into the pub last August, I hadn't seen Severus since that night in 1981. He kept his distance all those years believing I thought ill of him, but I didn't. I was _overjoyed_ to see him. And to see him with you…" Aberforth shook his head. "Even then his love for you was obvious. In September, when he came to me speaking about adoption –"

Harry started. "September?"

Aberforth's gaze softened. "Oh yes. You two weren't speaking because, well, because my brother can be an arse of a know-it-all, but Severus couldn't seem to help himself when it came to you and I did nothing to discourage him. He and I talked a lot during that time, with you the shining topic of _every _conversation. He told me all manner of things about your life, such as your first Quidditch match of the year, even showed me the Snitch you magicked to him." Aberforth uttered a warm, rusty laugh at Harry's sheepish expression. "Of how you had begun to spend nights in his quarters, of your crush on a young witch and how you'd finally gotten the stones to ask her out. And he worried for you constantly because of some little snot-nosed hooligans in his House… When he first mentioned adoption, I begged him to tell you the truth so that you could have your feelings about it, no matter how devastating.

"But, Severus… well, he never expected to fall in love with you, Harry," Aberforth said, echoing his brother's claim, word for word. "He never expected that you'd feel the same, either, and he certainly never imagined himself a father to you. You come with more difficulties than most—none of which is your fault, of course—but know that Severus never took taking you into his home, into his heart lightly."

Harry sneered. Aberforth had to stifle a chuckle because it reminded him so much of Snape.

"Harry, Severus allows few people to get as close to him as you have. For you, he has bared his soul because, lad, he loves you… more than anything."

"No he doesn't!" Harry shouted, as if saying it loudly would make it true, would cancel out the thick emotion in Aberforth's voice and the hungry pounding of his own heart at hearing Snape's feelings for him spoken aloud. "No, he was too worried about his own hide to be concerned about me! He kept what he did secret because he knew I'd hate him for it, that I wouldn't want a thing to do with him, and I don't, not anymore!"

Confounded by Harry's mulish attitude, Aberforth pierced the boy with a glare. "Tell me, since last summer, has Severus ever made you feel unsafe, uncared for, dare I say, unloved?"

Harry frowned. "That's not the –"

"IT IS!" Aberforth thundered, making Harry jump. "If you intend to throw away all that you and Severus have managed to build, I expect you to be able to answer a simple question!"

"No!" Harry ground out, furious that Aberforth had the gall to ask him so emotionally loaded a question, and that no matter how much he longed to say 'yes', it would be a lie: Snape did love him and exactly as Aberforth had stated—more than anything.

Harry pounded the hearth with his fist. "But he lied, for months, years, even!"

"Yes, Harry, because like you, and like me, Severus is human, imperfect. Look, I get that you're angry and hurt, but before you cast him away, heed me when I say that time with those we love can be fleeting—particularly when they put themselves in the direct path of danger."

"I reckon my mum thought the same before Voldemort cut her down," Harry spat, oblivious to Aberforth's cryptic tone.

The old wizard sighed at Harry's deadened gaze, clearly of the mind that there was nothing else to be said, that Harry's mind was made up about Snape.

"Then do what you must, Harry."

"I will," Harry said, green eyes glittering. "I always do."

*WO


	22. Chapter 22

Disclaimer: JK Rowling's characters.

**Hogwarts, March 1997**

Hermione and Ron went to fetch Harry the day Pomfrey released him from the hospital wing. When the nurse told them they had just missed him, they scoured the castle for the boy, but after an hour with no sign of him they went to Dumbledore. Snape was there, his lean black-clad form positioned stonily in front of the fire. He was quick to show them his back when they entered the room, but not quick enough—Hermione had glimpsed his troubled expression. Alarmed, she opened her mouth to ask if Harry was all right, but Dumbledore spoke first saying that Charlie had sent along a message to him and to Snape: Harry was at Hagrid's hut, speaking with Aberforth.

Relieved, Ron and Hermione dashed back to the Tower to wait. Minutes passed like hours as Ron paced. After twenty minutes, he suggested they go look for Harry. Hermione refused, certain he would show up any moment. When Harry did finally arrive, the common room was nearly deserted, and he was shivering. Frantic by that point, Hermione raced to embrace him; Ron chucked a big charm-warmed blanket around his shoulders and asked if he was okay. Harry met his eyes and said, "I will be." Yet for days after he stumped about the castle in a funk.

Few dared approach him. Even Slytherins gave him a wide berth if caught alone with him in a corridor, but once they were out of earshot, they vowed to "do something about the nutter" if Snape didn't. But outside of Potions class and meals, Harry and Snape rarely crossed paths. Harry went to great pains to keep it that way.

His Invisibility Cloak proved handy to that end, but trying to keep track of an invisible boyfriend as they went about the castle vexed Hermione. Still, Harry insisted the magical material worked double-duty—shielding him from gossip-thirsty students curious about his latest 'melt down' and from Snape's concerned glances. Harry hated those glances, same as he hated the man. Yet, night after night his shrill screams for the man shattered the sleeping silence of his dorm as images of Snape being tortured or killed plagued the Gryffindor's dreams. Ron tried to be a comfort, but the nightmares persisted.

Harry often stumbled into his morning classes so exhausted he sometimes fell asleep at his desk. The times he dozed off in Potions, Snape woke him by softly tapping him on the head—something he had always done when Harry had fallen asleep on the sofa or on the floor of the sitting room in the dungeons. Then, that gentle touch had always been followed by the boy's cat-like stretches and satisfied grunts. Now, it wreaked havoc, making Harry screech and flail about in his bid to escape it. Snape never managed to suppress a grimace when that happened.

Hermione asked Harry about it one evening, why he behaved as he did when Snape touched him, but he would have rather died than admit why he acted as if Snape's touch was poison. The truth? Those touches, in league with those dark-eyed glances of concern, sapped Harry's will, weakened him.

So, he stopped going to Potions.

McGonagall confronted him after he missed a week's worth of the class, suggesting he speak with Snape about what to do to catch up. Harry politely, but firmly told her he had better things to do than sit around listening to a murderer lecturing on ways to become an even cleverer one. At his tone, McGonagall turned the color of chalk.

"It's clear that whatever is going on between you two has affected you deeply," she said, "but it has taken quite the toll on Severus, as well."

Harry knew that. The man seemed to grow gaunter with each passing day, a thing Harry guiltily attributed to their troubles. But he also suspected that something outside the castle was adding to the man's stress. Harry tried convincing himself that he was overreacting, that Dumbledore wouldn't allow Snape off school grounds for any reason, _especially_ if it involved Voldemort, but when Snape began missing the occasional dinner, Harry's imagination ran wild, concocting all manner of scenarios of what the man might be up to outside the castle; those same scenarios morphed into the nightmares that made sleep impossible.

"Mate, you're at it again," Ron said at breakfast one morning.

Harry jumped. "What?"

"You're watching him."

"Who?" Harry scowled and quickly turned his gaze downward. He snatched up his fork to poke at the dried out piece of toast he had ignored since Ron tossed it onto his plate fifteen minutes ago.

"Don't be daft." Ron slung his book bag over his shoulder and stood up. "We're gonna be late for Binns. Hermione's left already."

Harry vaguely recalled her planting a kiss on his cheek and saying that she would see them in class; he'd been too engrossed with watching the two wizards at the High Table. Snape had a free period after breakfast on Tuesdays, so he lingered this morning, engaged in what looked like an intense discussion with Dumbledore; their white and black heads were nearly touching as they talked.

"C'mon," Ron said. He tugged at Harry's shoulder.

Harry got up. After one last glance up at the High Table, he followed Ron out.

*WO

**Gryffindor Tower, Hogwarts, April 1997 (04)**

Harry's things were still in the dungeons. Thinking the Gryffindor's attitude toward Snape ridiculous, Draco had refused to bring them to him when Harry asked; he did relent to bring Harry his wand and books so he could carry on studying, though Harry didn't know if he had done it at Snape's urging or if the boy had truly been concerned about his studies, but he supposed it didn't matter.

Harry's dorm mates came through in the pinch, too. Seamus, being closer to his size than Neville or Dean, had graciously offered to share his clothes with Harry, but the time came, when tired of the boy hitching at his trousers – Seamus's trousers – Ron had snapped at him to send Hedwig to Madam Malkin's: "Harry, you have the Galleons to buy the whole bloody store if you want! Buy some proper clothes!"

On his way back from the owlery he spied Hermione and Snape talking in one of the sixth floor corridors. The sight of them together was nothing new, but every time he saw them, an annoyed anger gnawed at his gut because he knew he was the topic of their conversation.

The night he had arrived back at Gryffindor Tower after leaving the hospital wing, Hermione had gently badgered him into telling her and Ron what had caused the flare up with Snape. Having witnessed Harry's rage first-hand, she hoped ridding himself of the story would temper the anger that lingered.

Reluctant, and obviously hating to relive it, Harry let the story seep out. Ron sat, strangely mute, but the eye rolls, clenched jaw, and arms crossed tightly over his chest made clear his feelings for Snape and the man's connection to the prophecy. Hermione had leapt to her feet, furious, dead set on confronting the man. Harry had stopped her, saying, "Just leave it. He's not worth it." But, Hermione had refused to let things lie. The next day she went to Snape's quarters.

"Professor? May I speak with you, please?"

"Come in." Snape gestured toward the sofa as they made their way into the sitting room. "Please, sit down."

"Thank you, but what I have to say won't take long."

"…Ah."

"Harry told Ron and me what happened between you two. _How_ could you keep a thing like that from him?"

Snape stooped to pick up a small vial from the coffee table. He turned it over, as if inspecting its bottom; Hermione didn't fail to notice the way his hands trembled.

"I understand that you two are very close," he said quietly, "but this is a matter between Harry and me."

"That may be, but… I'd like to know your side of things so I can defend you to him."

Snape's eyes narrowed in confused disbelief. "Defend me?"

"Well, yes." Hermione sounded surprised. "You want him back in your life don't you?"

"Miss Granger –"

"Sir, don't deny you need help fixing this!"

"Miss –"

"As powerful as Harry is, he can't carry on like this, bottling up his feelings. He's angry with you, and he truly wants to believe that he hates you, but you must know that being apart from you is killing him –"

"Miss Granger," Snape said sharply, "I warn you –"

"NO!" Hermione stamped her foot, unmoved by his menacing glare. "I warned _you_! In that letter I wrote you last summer, I begged you, _begged_ you not to hurt him and you've very nearly destroyed him!"

The sliver of control Snape had tried to manage since Hermione mentioned Harry broke.

"Don't you think I know what I've done?!" He flung the vial against the fireplace, shattering it. "I know exactly what I've done! I know exactly… Ahh! Damn it! _Damn it!__" _He dug the heels of his hands into his eyes and stumbled backward a couple of paces_. __"_Oh, my God, I never meant to hurt him!"

Hermione stepped forward to touch his elbow. Snape flinched and Hermione quickly withdrew her hand. "Please, Professor… Let me help –"

"You can't! Harry will never forgive me. Never!" He pressed the back of his hand against his mouth as if to stop himself speaking. "Go, Miss Granger. I can't… I won't speak about this anymore!"

The front door opened and banged closed.

"Professor?"

"In here, Draco." Snape cast a hasty _Evanesco_ to vanish the debris of the broken vial just as Draco entered the room.

"Granger. Sir…? What's going on here?" Draco frowned at Hermione. "Granger, what did you do!?"

"Excuse me?"

"Why does the professor look as if he's just seen a ghost?"

Hermione looked at Snape. She judged that she had never seen the man looking so heartbroken. Nearly losing Harry to Death Eaters in Hogsmeade obviously paled in comparison to having lost Harry by his own hand. Feeling a measure of pity for him she said: "Not a ghost. At least not yet."

Draco sneered. "Oh, I see. You're here bothering him about Potter."

Hermione let out a frustrated exhale. "Yes, I'm here about _Harry_. Honestly! Is obtuseness contagious in this family?"

"You know that what's going on between them is absolutely none of your concern, don't you?" Draco went on.

Hermione fixed the boy with a hair-raising glare. "If it involves Harry, it's my concern and then some!"

Draco bristled. "Why, you nosey little –"

Hermione put her hands on her hips. "Don't you dare –"

"Stop it!" Snape snapped. "Draco, I'm fine. Miss Granger, go to your dorm!"

"Not until we sort this out!" Hermione said, turning on the man, angry. "If you refuse to make things right, if Harry never forgives you, then on _your _head be it! But, if you love him the way I think you do, fight for him. Professor, Harry has a beautiful heart. He'll forgive you, but you have to try!"

Snape swayed, suddenly unsteady on his feet. He lurched two steps over to the sofa to lower himself down on to it; he dropped his head into his hands. Draco brushed past Hermione to sit before the man on the coffee table. He put a slim hand on Snape's shoulder and leaned in close, murmuring softly. He sighed when Snape shook his head.

When Hermione continued to hover, Draco said coldly over his shoulder, "Goodnight, Granger."

Hermione eyed Snape, expecting him to speak, but his head was still in his hands. Her eyes filled with angry tears.

"Right," she said. "Goodnight."

She was almost out of the room when Snape spoke softly, hesitantly: "Miss Granger… Wait."

Harry often wondered about that confrontation – the details of which Hermione had been eager to share, but Harry had refused to hear. Ron had wondered what "the git" had said to pull the wool over Hermione's eyes because he would never have "believed a word that came out of that fucker's mouth." Harry envied Ron's ability to distance himself from the situation and often thought that if he had adopted that same attitude last summer his life would not be such an utter cock up now.

"Could I have a word, please?" he said, coming to stand next to Hermione. Initially she had brightened, but after noting the chill dedication with which he was ignoring Snape, she sighed.

"Can it wait a moment, Harry?" She gestured toward Snape. "I'm kind of in the middle of –"

"No." Harry planted himself between the witch and wizard, his back to Snape, his face close to Hermione's. "I need to speak with you _now_."

Hermione's eyes flicked up to Snape's face. They lingered for several seconds before she looked back to Harry. "…Fine." Her lips barely moved. "Professor, please excuse us."

She had scarcely finished talking before Harry snagged her around her waist and began to steer her up the corridor at a fast clip. She fumed silently as they walked, but as soon as they stepped past the Fat Lady and entered the common room, she spoke.

"What –"

"Why is it every time I look up, you're talking to him?" Harry interrupted, his tone accusing and unfriendly.

"Harry it's not –"

"We talked about this. I don't want you discussing me with him. You know what he did and I don't want you acting as if none of it matters!"

"But –"

"I'd really appreciate a bit of loyalty!"

Hermione rocked backward as if he had slapped her. "Are you serious?" She squeaked – a clear sign of anger, but Harry plodded ahead anyway, like a bull in a china shop.

"_Every_ time I look up, you're nattering with him! If it's not in the corridor, then it's after class! I'm sick of it!"

Hermione's chest rose and fell rapidly as her face turned a vibrant shade of red.

"Right." She somehow managed to make the word sound profane. "Professor Snape has obviously spoiled you so that you truly think you _are_ the center of the universe! For your information, _Mr. Potter_," she poked his chest for emphasis, "you'd be shocked to know that while yes, I am worried about you, I'm also getting more and more nervous about N.E.W.T.S coming up next term, so when I _do_speak to him—which is perfectly within my rights to do—sometimes it's about applying for Potions apprenticeships abroad." She poked him again. "But judging from your behavior, I now realize that _every_ _spare second_ should have been spent in doglike dedication thinking only of you, because it's not as if nearly every waking moment of my life isn't _already_ spent thinking about you, you self-centered ARSE! LOYALTY? How DARE YOU!" She screeched. And poked.

Harry flinched as if shot, thinking he would rather she had just kneed him in the crotch, twice, and been done with it! Then realizing that all activity in the common room had stopped, he looked around. Every eye in the room was on him and Hermione—well, mostly him because Hermione had rounded on her heel, stomped over to the portrait and kicked it open making the Fat Lady shriek in indignation.

Mortified, Harry stood frozen. He knew he should go after her, he wanted to go after her, but the utter certainty that she would hex him into a steaming pile of poo stopped him. Ginny, who had been watching the action from the squashy chair near the entrance, rose to stand before him.

"Harry, there was a time that I would have been glad to see you two arguing because I liked you. I've liked you since before my brothers rescued you from that Muggle madhouse you lived in and brought you to the Burrow."

Harry blinked as she shook her copper colored hair back off her shoulders. _Ginny liked me?_

"But the boy I liked would have never questioned the loyalty of one of his best friends because he knows them better than anyone. And he most certainly wouldn't have hurt his girlfriend the way you just hurt Hermione."

As Ginny spoke, Harry wished for a chasm to split open beneath his feet, for it to leach him out existence and suck him into a dimension where being an arse was impossible and apologizing to your girlfriend did not make facing Voldemort seem as dangerous as tangling with a puppy.

"You know, when she talks about you to Snape, she's just trying to help – trying to make sure you don't screw things up beyond all reason with him, because once you're over being so mad, once you've had time to think about how you _really_feel about him, you might actually want to forgive him." Ginny angled her chin toward the portrait. "Now, while I know you're terrified of being hexed stupider, you'd better go after her."

Ginny was right. Hermione had never been one to sit back and watch him fall apart; she was doing what she always did—looking out for him, anticipating his penchant for making bad situations worse.

Harry sighed. "Thanks, Ginny."

*WO

**Room of Requirement, Hogwarts, April 1997 (06)**

Hermione did not forgive Harry right away. She let him flounder in a vat of emotional quicksand for two of the longest days of his life. She had never been so slow to forgive him when they had just been friends, so the longer the silent-treatment went on, the more Harry realized how badly he had hurt her. When she finally agreed to talk to him, the ensuing conversation in the Room of Requirement had no shortage of shouting, screaming, and flapping of arms, but in her flushed, irate state, she had never looked so magnificent to Harry.

After she collapsed into a heap on the floor, Harry laid down beside her. He tried to gather her into his arms, but she lay rigid, resistant to his need to have her melt against him as she always did when he held her. Eventually he got his wish as her anger ebbed, giving way to tears. Harry let her cry, let her shift her body into the comforting hollow his created around hers when she was ready.

Once her tears ran their course, she lay quiet in the circle of his arms, her head on his chest. After a time she rose up onto her elbows to look down at him. He met her puffy-eyed, but steady gaze and reached to caress her cheek. Before he could touch her, she grabbed his wrist and forced it back to the floor.

"I hate you for making me feel this way." Her brown eyes flashed with hurt and anger; Harry's heart clenched in fear. "Never again, Harry Potter. Do you hear me? Never."

Then she covered his mouth with hers, muffling Harry's moan of relief.

WO*

Later, they lay entwined, ensconced in their robes before a crackling fire. The warm colors reflected beautifully along Hermione's bare leg.

Harry told her what Ginny had said about Snape. He also told her that he was considering speaking to the man.

"I'm glad," Hermione said, giving him a squeeze. "He wants so much for you to forgive him. He believes you two can get past this, but if you don't, it's cruel to let him go on hoping."

"I know," Harry said, "but if I forgive him, he'll likely expect things to go back to the way they were." Harry grimaced. "I couldn't… couldn't be his _son_, Hermione. God! I just couldn't!"

"Oh, Harry, no one's asking you to take it that far, not even Snape."

"Yeah, but, if I _don't_ forgive him, if I do cut him out of my life… I can't imagine it. As angry as I still am, I can't imagine my life without him in it." Harry shifted to settle his head on her stomach, then began to draw fluttery circles around the lovely mole on her hipbone.

"D'you wanna know what he said to me during an Occlumency lesson last year? He said weak people wear their hearts on their sleeves, that they can't control their emotions, and they wallow in sad memories." Harry paraphrased Snape's words flatly. "He thinks I'm weak, Hermione."

"He doesn't!"

"Then why would he say that?"

"Oh, Harry, he said that more than a year ago, when you both hated each other! And if he really believes that, if he really believed you're weak for loving someone, then he is too. When it comes to you, he's absolutely hopeless! He's always asking after you, wanting to know if you're eating, if you're still having nightmares."

"How did he –"

Hermione shrugged. "I never told him. He just knows. Harry, he knows you –"

Harry shook his head.

"Stop it!" Hermione put a hand to his cheek, forcing him to look up at her. "Stop sabotaging yourself! And stop putting words into Snape's mouth and projecting feelings onto him that aren't his!"

"It's just… I don't know what to do!"

"Oh, Harry, I know."

"I feel like I should have known that he was behind Voldemort targeting my parents."

"How could you have known that?"

"He'd always act so weird when I mentioned them. I thought it was because of how my father treated him when they were kids, but… Our first day of training he asked me to think of a safe place, but I couldn't do it without passing out. My mum kept coming to mind. I'd see her doing something completely normal, and then it'd bleed into the night when she was screaming –"

"Harry, don't…"

"No, it's fine. Really. I mean, I haven't had that dream since last summer, since that first session actually, but after I came round, told him what I'd seen, he looked at me… disgusted. I thought it was because he hated my mum like he hated my father, but now I get that it was because of what he'd done, that he felt responsible for her screaming like that."

"Harry –"

"Another time, he showed me a memory to prove that he'd tried to talk Sirius out of going to the Ministry. We'd had this knock down drag out row and I accused him of having something to atone for and he – gods Hermione, I wish you could have seen his face – it was like I'd ripped his heart out or something. I'd never seen him so… weak, so I kept at him. I'm sure he wanted to hit me. He didn't, though. Never until…" Hermione took his hand and kissed it. Harry gave her a weak smile, grateful. "There were just so many signs and I had no idea."

"I'm sure he wanted to tell you, but he didn't know how. With all he was beginning to feel for you, probably no time seemed right. He could never have expected to love you, Harry."

Harry uttered a soft laugh. "That's what Aberforth said… He also said that Snape talked about adopting me way back in September."

"I'm not surprised." Hermione smiled. "You know, despite anything you've said or done, he still loves you."

Harry said nothing because he knew that Snape's feelings for him had not changed an iota.

"Do you still love him?" Hermione asked.

"I…" Harry began, then he moved his head up and down in a ragged nod.

"Then why won't you talk to him? Please, Harry, this – it's just so awful, seeing you both so miserable!"

"I know… I just – I don't understand why this had to happen? Hermione, I don't understand whuh-_whyyy_!"

Hermione stroked his head, then shimmied down to take him in her arms. Harry curled into her and buried his face against her throat, salty tears spilling over his dark lashes. When he began to shake, Hermione rocked him gently.

WO*

**The Great Hall, Hogwarts, April 1997 (10)**

Harry always studied the scene up at the High Table at mealtimes, particularly at dinner. When Snape was present, Harry exhaled a sigh of relief, but when the man's seat was empty, panic bloomed within Harry and he would excuse himself to go to his dorm. There he would pull out the Marauder's map to hunt for Snape's dot. Several times over the past two weeks, it was nowhere to be found on the magical parchment and that could only mean one thing: Snape was leaving the school's grounds.

When trailing Snape before, trying to suss out what the man had been up to with Dumbledore, there had been times when Harry had not been able to spot Snape's dot on the map, but then, there had been no need to check it every day – he had been living with the man. And, add to that what Aberforth had said about Snape visiting him at the Hog's Head, then Snape leaving Hogwarts' grounds was nothing new. But Aberforth was gone now, so Harry knew with all certainty that Snape wasn't traveling to the village.

Thanks to Ron's inexhaustible fascination with Draco it became clear to Harry that the Slytherin worried just as much as he did when Snape was gone, so he was curious when at dinner one evening the boy made a beeline for him at the Gryffindor table.

"Follow me out?" Draco coolly ignored the mix of confounded and scandalized looks traveling the length of the table as he addressed Harry.

The two hadn't really spoken since Harry left the hospital wing, but Draco's grim expression prompted Harry to nod. Ron and Hermione's eyes followed him as he rose to leave; he raised a hand, indicating that it was okay. As he and Draco neared the exit, the blond boy looked up at the High Table. He dipped his chin and Harry knew that Snape was watching them. He had to force himself not to look to his left, to instead focus on Draco's back, but in his mind's eye, he saw the man mimicking Draco's nod, black brow crooked in curiosity at seeing the boys together.

"The professor has been keeping rather later and later nights the past few weeks," Draco said as the doors swept closed behind them. "When I ask, he says he's been in his office arranging for some big shipment for N.E.W.T.S., but a couple of times he hasn't returned until dawn. He told me it was nothing to concern myself with."

Harry scowled at the man's nerve. "Typical," he said. "So, what are you going to do?"

Draco's brows shot up. "_Me?_ Don't you mean we?"

"We? – No, Malfoy! How could I –"

"Well why the hell did you bother to come out here then?"

"You asked me to!"

"Oh, yes, and you always do what I ask!"

"What did you expect?"

Draco's lip curled. "I expected you to act like you care, you mongrel! Like you give a damn if he lives or dies!"

Harry reddened and balled his hands into fists. "Malfoy –"

"You could help out, you know? Ease his mind instead of moping about and pissing on every effort he makes to do right by you!"

"Do right by me? _Do right by me_?! HE told Voldemort about the prophecy!" Harry roared. "He's the reason my parents are _dead_! He'd better do right by me!"

"You really need to get over yourself, Potter! Do you know that every time he leaves the castle he risks getting himself killed? All because he's trying to prove something to you, someone who doesn't care a knut for the sacrifices he's making!"

"I s'pose the punishment fits the crime, then."

Draco stared, eyeing Harry as though seeing him for the first time. "Gods, you're no better than my father. Blood thirsty, narcissistic, selfish –"

Harry's eyes bulged out of his head. "WHAT!"

Draco moved in close, his forehead nearly touching Harry's. "You're. No. Better. Than. My. Father," he repeated. The slight two inch height advantage he had over Harry (a thing that never failed to irk Harry) allowed him to effectively look down his nose at the Gryffindor. But Harry wasn't intimidated. He was pissed off.

He raised his hands, aiming to shove Draco away from him, but then Ron emerged from the Hall.

"Harry?" Ron observed Harry's livid expression and raised hands. He turned to Draco. "What the hell, Malfoy?"

"Butt out, Weasel!" Draco spat, his eyes glued to Harry's.

"Don't talk to him like that!" Harry growled, then shoved the boy.

After stumbling back several weirdly graceful paces, Draco righted himself. Then in the most unexpected of moves, he charged Harry, his right fist arcing in a swing aimed at Harry's face. He cried out when his knuckles raked across the pointy edge of Harry's glasses, scraping back a generous chunk of skin, yet, he found it within himself to grin when the heel of his wrist connected satisfyingly with Harry's eye, knocking the boy's unsightly spectacles askew and making the Gryffindor cry out.

But, when Draco had moved against Harry, Harry's hands were already in motion, primed to whack any part of the Slytherin that would bruise. The blunt sting of Draco's wrist meeting his eye only infuriated the Gryffindor more, so he crowed inwardly (and praised the elbow gods for his ridiculously pointy joints) when his right elbow split open Draco's bottom lip.

Now, with each having got in a painful shot, a free-for-all followed where they began to pummel each other with no regard of injury to themselves or anyone else within striking distance. With all the noise the two were making, curious students had begun to pour out of the Great Hall into the corridor. Frozen at the sight of the two boys beating each other bloody, Ron finally snapped to attention when Harry nailed Draco with his elbow again, this time in the chest, making the Slytherin gasp and double over.

"Oy!" Ron grabbed the back of Harry's robes. Harry grunted from the impact of flying through the air as Ron yanked him backward, away from Draco. Ron then shoved the enraged boy behind him. But Draco took only seconds to recover. In no time he was hissing and spitting like a trapped cobra. He lunged at Ron, scrabbling around him to reach Harry, but Ron manhandled the wriggling boy with ease, one-handed.

"Malfoy! Stop!" Ron bellowed. To Ron's utter surprise, Draco did.

Panting harshly, awareness hit and the Slytherin looked around, eyes a bit wild. Realizing he had become part of a spectacle being gawped at by half the school, he swallowed to calm himself. He went to straighten his robes and encountered Ron's hand on his chest; he knocked it away as if it burned.

"You know he could flatten you with a twitch of his finger, right?" Ron said, irritated at the boy's reaction.

"I'm not afraid of him." Draco muttered, though his hands shook when he smoothed his hair down; his mouth was bleeding, but he took no notice. "Just continue on with your little vendetta or temper tantrum or whatever the hell it is you're doing," he told Harry.

He started away, then turned back, his gray eyes strangely cold and fiery at once. "You already torched the certificate. Why not do the damned thing properly? Why not do the professor a favor and just rescind the adoption? That way he won't have to torture himself or possibly be at the mercy of others torturing him for your forgiveness! You fucking prat! You don't deserve him! You never did."

"You'd love it if I did that, wouldn't you?" Harry yelled. "'Cause you're _jealous_!" He hunted for evidence the barb had struck a nerve, but far from looking hurt by Harry's insensitivity, Draco seemed saddened by it. This wound Harry up all over again. How dare Malfoy look at him like that! He wasn't the one in need of pity!

With a growl, Harry began to struggle furiously against Ron, but Ron had shifted backward, pinning Harry and Harry's hands, to the wall. Ron's back was lanky, but broad and while tingles from Harry's magic were a bit unnerving, Ron wagered Harry wouldn't hurt him, not even to get at Draco. But Harry didn't need to hurt Draco physically; words packed a killer punch, too.

"You're just jealous because he HAD to take you in! He asked me to live with him! Do you hear me?! He ASKED me! You'll never take my place! Never! WANKER!" Harry shouted. Draco squared his jaw, then turned to make his way to the dungeons.

"That's quite enough, Potter!"

Harry and Ron turned to see Pansy Parkinson looking watery-eyed and furious. Neville stood to her right, while Theo and Blaise flanked her left side.

"This doesn't have a thing to do with you, Parkinson." Ron heard the bitter dislike in Harry's voice and thought it misdirected.

"She's right, Harry," he said, though he sounded intensely uncomfortable saying so. Harry fell still behind him.

"Just whose side are you on?"

Ron growled as he whipped around to face Harry. "Yours, of course, but you really stepped a toe over the line with that comment!"

"What is all the shouting?" McGonagall. She looked a bit ruffled for having fought her way through the swell of students bottlenecked at the Hall's entrance. "Potter, Weasley, I asked you a question!"

"Malfoy was giving Harry a hard time," Ron said, eyeing his friend's bloodless face. He could see that Harry already regretted his words to Draco, that Ron and Pansy's chastising had brought his ugly behavior to bear.

"Potter?" McGonagall said. "What happened to your eye?"

"Nothing." Harry muttered, flinching away from her probing gaze. He wouldn't be able to see its bloodshot and bruised condition until later, but his eye did hurt; Draco's hit had obviously gotten the job done far better than Harry had believed.

"Where is Draco?" Snape. He too had cleared a path through the students, though he hardly appeared the worse for wear like McGonagall.

Harry cringed, wondering if Snape had heard the cruel things he had just yelled at Draco. Judging from the man's concerned tone, Harry suspected that he had.

"Answer him, Potter," McGonagall said.

Careful to keep the left side of his face hidden from Snape, Harry ground out, "I don't know where he went. I'm not his keeper."

"_That_ is obvious," Snape said coldly, and breezed past.

WO*


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N: **I dedicate this chapter to **Eta**, aka **enahma**. Without her providing a link to my story on her profile page, I would never had had as many hits, alerts, or reviews after my last post. I had an astounding (for me) 10,000 hits for the month of June, so Köszönöm, Eta! ~Ruth7019

Disclaimer: JK Rowling's characters.

**The Room of Requirement, Hogwarts, April 1997 (19)**

For days after the fracas with Draco, Harry lost sleep. He toyed with his food and brooded about what Snape thought of him. He also took frustrated bites out of his dorm mates. After snapping at Neville for once again leaving his trunk perfectly placed for Harry to crack his shin against when he had to dash to the loo in the dark, Neville had told him: "Look, Harry, I'm sorry things didn't work out with you and Snape, _really_, but that doesn't give you leave to treat us like rubbish."

Realizing that Neville had done him a kindness informing him what an arse he had been, Harry had immediately begged forgiveness from the boy and the others. Seamus still looked at him sideways sometimes, but Neville and Dean had shrugged it off straight away. Still, Harry fretted about being so transparent. Snape's frosty behavior after the row in the corridor had felt like a knife to the gut, and Harry had taken it out on those close to him. But even beyond that, he wasn't really angry with Snape either; he was angry with himself, and Neville's admonishment had simply worked to sober him up, to make him recognize that something had to change.

He took to prowling the corridors late into the night, his brow crinkled as he tried to cobble together a way to cope with his feelings for Snape. But wading through all the grief, betrayal, and uncertainty kept him teetering endlessly between a profound hatred for the man, and the undeniable (and growing) desire to forgive him.

Harry needed to talk to someone. Ron had been pissy since the incident outside the Great Hall; Hermione had flatly told him it was Snape he needed to talk to, not her. But he couldn't do that. Not yet. After more thought, though, he knew who would have a sympathetic ear: Aberforth. But how to get in touch with him without leaving the castle? Harry didn't want to use Charlie to contact him because he hadn't appreciated Charlie informing on him to Snape the last time, but leaving the Great Hall after dinner, he overheard Ginny mention the Room of Requirement to Dean. Snape's memory of using the Room to check on Sirius came to him, and he wondered if he could use it the same way.

Harry trailed everyone back to the common room, but he made a detour when the staircase shifted.

Stepping into the Room of Requirement he was astonished to find a replica of Hagrid's hut, complete with scrubbed wood table and inviting fire. Looking about, he hoped there were no critters loose within. Like Hagrid, Charlie had a soft spot for baby animals, lethal and otherwise, but things looked safe enough, so Harry strode over to the fireplace. He stood on his toes to grab a handful of Floo powder from the large red tin atop the mantel, then hurled it into the flames. When they flashed green, he knelt down and shouted: "The Glass Hoof!"

The pub's dark wood walls, jam-packed with family photos, plaques, paintings and historical wizarding paraphernalia, came into view instantly. Harry fancied he could smell the pub's homey interior as he looked about. He let the sights transport him back to last August when things had been simpler, when he'd been at peace with how his parents had died. That dinner had been a raucous affair, but now the pub was still and quiet, seemingly deserted, but Harry knew it couldn't be.

"Hello?" He called.

In a matter of seconds a long grizzled face appeared. Harry recognized Ossie, the pub's Watchman.

"Wat's yer business 'ere?" Ossie sounded gruff and suspicious, and his flint-eyed expression was far from the cheerful one he had bestowed upon Charlie a few weeks ago—but that was to be expected. Only a select few had access to the pub's Floo. Frankly, Harry was surprised he had been able to get through.

"Um, hi. I'd like to speak with Aberforth Dumbledore, please. My name's Harry Potter."

Instantly, Ossie's demeanor flipped. He leaned forward, peering hard into the fire. Resisting the urge to press his fringe down, Harry flushed when the man's sharp eyes landed on his scar.

"'arry Potter, you say? Lookin' to 'ave a chinwag with old Ab, yeah? Well, I'll be!"

The gregarious wizard had the propensity to grin widely as he spoke, so Harry was treated to the man's complete and unfortunate disregard for dental hygiene, yet, the Gryffindor managed to check his revulsion and say, "Yes, sir," in his most reverent tone. The man's mouth was atrocious, but his post as the Glass Hoof's Watchman demanded respect. Ron had filled Harry in on the Watchman's legendary role in the pub when they dined there last year.

Since the pub's inception, descendants of the families who founded it had met every seventy-five years since 1175 to appoint a Watchman or Watchwoman to safeguard the place. First rate battle skills were a must as the Watchman bore the burden of being the pub's sole Secret Keeper. Appointed in 1925 when he was eighteen, Gregory Oswin's tenure had been fraught with an abnormally high degree of auspicious milestones and discord: He had been present for Voldemort's birth, his rise to power, and the first war with the dark wizard; it seemed he'd be around for the second if things continued as they were.

Now ninety years of age, Ossie had been thirty-eight when his wife died in 1945 under mysterious circumstances. Unable to bear children, Charity Oswin had devoted most of her time tending the elderly. One old witch she checked on periodically had been Hepzibah Smith. Smith was swimming in wealth, but she lived a solitary existence and welcomed distraction, no matter how banal. Charity had gone to the Smith residence for one of her visits and found the house in shambles. The dwelling already overflowed with items Smith collected senselessly, but this was different. Everything was strewn about, much of it broken. Stepping further into the disarray, Charity had found Hepzibah, dead.

Ossie had heard the whispers that Riddle-cum-Voldemort had been seen frequenting Hepzibah's home. If that was true, Ossie reasoned that the snotty little trickster must have had a hand in Charity's death, as well as Hepzibah's. During their courtship, Charity had graced him with the nickname, Ossie, believing Gregory, or even Greg, ill-suited to him. He missed his wife every day, but he had learned to embrace his life as a widower. It had allowed him to focus on his singular tasks as Watchman; it had allowed him to plan for the day Voldemort would unleash his dark army, because on that day, Ossie planned to be on the front lines to defeat it.

"Yeh know, me mam always told me –"

"Mr. Oswin?" Harry interrupted, anxious to crush the man's tendency to prattle on. "I really need to talk to Aberforth."

Ossie chortled loudly and slapped his knee. "Oh, me! 'Mr. Oswin' indeed! Well, _Mr. Potter_, yeh just keep 'old to yer knickers whilst I roun' the ol' boy up fer yeh… Aberforth!"

Half a minute later Harry heard, "Ossie? You calling?"

"Yeah, Ab! Little 'arry Potter's needin' ta bend yer ear a bit!" Ossie yelled over his shoulder. Harry's bottom lip poked out at being called 'little'; he'd grown at least an inch since last July…

"Harry?"

Off to the side, out of Harry's line of sight, he heard a labored shuffling sound. Then Aberforth came into view. He looked tired. Harry frowned as Ossie offered a hand to help the elder wizard kneel on an enormous pouf.

"Harry, my boy! How are you?"

"You look shattered…"

Aberforth grinned. The action instantly transformed his face, brightening his eyes. "Oh, my knee's been giving me a spot of trouble. Nothing to worry yourself about, lad."

Harry truly wished the men in his life trusted him to handle unsavory news, but he wasn't there to hound Aberforth about his health.

Aberforth adjusted his spectacles. "So, what's on your mind?"

"My mum and Snape," Harry said.

"Ah… They were close. Thick as thieves those two."

"Did they date?"

Aberforth laughed. "No, it wasn't anything like that."

"Did he ask and she told him to piss off?"

"Harry, Severus didn't want Lily in that way."

"Then why did he want her dead?"

The lively sparkle illuminating Aberforth's eyes vanished, like a mirage in a sandstorm, leaving the blue to reflect steel and cold; Harry winced, realizing that, as ever, he had gone too far.

"Harry, I've been keen to grant you leeway with your feelings for Severus because I know it'll take some time for you to get over what he did," Aberforth said, "but I'll not stand for you labeling him as Lily's murderer!"

"Well, he –"

"Perhaps if you knew all the facts, you wouldn't be so quick to crucify him."

"That's not –"

"It was mid-October, 1981, when the Order began to suspect a traitor amongst the ranks."

"I know, Pettigrew –"

"Yes, but what you likely _don't_ know is that Severus, after telling Riddle what he'd heard, began to feel uneasy. Then when he discovered that Lily and James were to be targeted, he pleaded with that lunatic to spare them. When that didn't work, he went to my brother to offer them shelter."

Harry nearly swallowed his tongue. "He... What?"

"Severus cared deeply for your mother. He was desperate to save her."

Harry blinked, disbelieving. "Her? What about me? What about my father? We were a family!"

"Yes, but Severus's first loyalty is to those he loves, Harry, and you know there was no love lost between him and your father. Lily, though… despite their falling out, he still cared for her, and as a part of Lily, he considered you as well, but truly, at the time, his feelings for her eclipsed any responsibility for you or James Potter."

Harry's brow furrowed as he stewed over Aberforth's words. So, Snape had cared for Lily so much he had tried to save her. Well why shouldn't he have? It was his doing that had put her in danger! Aberforth was sugarcoating it, making it sound as if Snape should be applauded for doing the right thing! Well, bugger that! Snape's perverted view of loyalty stunk. Harry didn't qualify or put conditions on helping someone; if they needed help he did what he could, regardless of how he felt about them. He'd done it for Dudley when Umbridge sicced those Dementors on them, and he'd done it last summer, sitting and reading to Snape and massaging the man's hands!

"I'd hoped that Severus would have told you," Aberforth said, noting Harry's explosive expression.

"What? That my father and me were an afterthought? As if it wasn't bad enough he lied about telling Voldemort about the prophecy!"

Aberforth sighed, sounding as if he regretted saying anything.

"Yes, well, Harry, when you have a child of your –"

"I am not his child!"

Like Draco had done in the corridor just days before, Aberforth eyed Harry as though seeing him for the first time.

"You've never been more right." The old wizard told Harry coldly, making the boy cringe. "No, just now you're one more amongst an ignorant lot to overlook how much Severus has sacrificed for the wizarding world. I grant you, he's no angel, but –"

"Don't do that!" Harry fumed. "You don't get to do that! You don't get to make this my fault! It's not!"

"Of course not, lad! But you do get to choose how you react! You do get to choose to forgive him. Harry, talk to Severus. Don't let an old mistake kill the one good thing that came of it."

Aberforth had a point: Harry could continue freezing Snape out of his life, but in doing so, he would be setting himself up to become like someone he couldn't bear to be like—Aunt Petunia. Until her dying day, she had doggedly determined to hold onto a deliberate misunderstanding of and bitter hatred for her sister, to no end. True, Harry's anger was justified, but it was starting to feel wrong to hang on to it, especially as it bore no influence on what had happened: His parents were dead. No amount of righteous fury would change that. Still, this news about the supposed offer of sanctuary had blindsided him, making the anger flare. How dare Snape pick and choose who to save!

Right now that anger still felt necessary; right now it still felt right. Righteous fury, indeed.

*WO

**Potions Classroom, Hogwarts, April 1997 (22)**

'_Before this summer, Severus would have borne your hatred and not thought a second about it. Now it would utterly destroy him to hear you say such a thing_.'

'_Do you know that every time he leaves the castle he risks getting himself killed? All because he's trying to prove something to you, someone who doesn't care a knut for the sacrifices he's making!'_

'_Gods, you're no better than my father. Blood thirsty, narcissistic, selfish_ –'

'…_know that Severus never took taking you into his home, into his heart lightly_.'

'_No, just now you're one more amongst an ignorant lot to overlook how much Severus has sacrificed for the wizarding world.' _

'_I'm sure he wanted to tell you, but he didn't know how. With all he was beginning to feel for you, probably no time seemed right. He could never have expected to love you, Harry_.'

'_Don't let an old mistake kill the one good thing that came of it.' _

'_...despite anything you've said or done, he still loves you_.'

Harry punched his pillow, flipped from his right side to his left, then flopped from his back onto his stomach before starting the vile cycle all over again. After half an hour of that nonsense, he lay staring up into the dark hole of his canopy, that string of comments chasing its tail round and round in his head. His talk with Aberforth had been atypically discouraging and unhelpful; the old wizard lumping him in with other judgmental arses had been a rather low blow, he thought.

Near midnight, he left his bed to wander the corridors, but this time he had a destination. It was the umpteenth time he had made the decision to speak to Snape since breakfast, and the third time he had made the trip to the bowels of the castle. He was determined to follow through, though – or at least make it to the door.

As he wound his way through the corridors, yesterday's scene in the Great Hall came to him. A mad flurry of conversation had erupted following the delivery of the _Prophet _with the paper reporting that several Death Eaters—Gregory Goyle's father included—had been apprehended by the Ministry. Aurors had an anonymous tipster to thank for the information. According to the article, the four Death Eaters had been bound and left for the authorities, like big evil presents.

Voldemort had suffered a loss, but he wouldn't let it stand for long. War was coming. For all Harry knew, Voldemort could show up at Hogwarts tomorrow. For that reason, he didn't want things to remain unresolved between him and Snape. They needed to sort things out. They needed to move on with their lives, whether as a family or not.

Rounding the corner to Snape's classroom, Harry stopped abruptly. A spell—a powerful spell. He recognized it as a privacy spell, one they had learned to cast in Charms back in November. Never mind it had been cast to protect the conversation taking place behind the door, Harry wanted to know why it was being used, and at this hour. He then whispered a spell Draco had taught him, one the Slytherin claimed had allowed him to eavesdrop on Lucius and Narcissa: "_Sen privatus_."

"…a moment of your time." Harry recognized Dumbledore's voice.

"What is it?" Snape.

"I must insist that you relinquish your duties in the Order," Dumbledore said.

Harry curled his hands into fists. On some level he'd known Snape had been spying, but to hear it confirmed out loud… Then he realized, Gods! Snape hadn't been at dinner last night! Had he been the one to capture those Death Eaters? Alone? But, Charlie had missed dinner, too. And Dumbledore had arrived late; McGonagall had been the one to begin the meal.

"Why would you ask this of me now?" Snape said, sounding incredulous.

"Harry," Dumbledore said, as if it was obvious. "The information you have gathered since September has been extraordinarily beneficial, Severus, but certainly Harry must be your top priority now."

There was a protracted pause before Snape spoke: "No… He's settled back into Gryffindor Tower. He's quite at home surrounded by his friends," he said quietly.

"Severus, you know as well as I that the Tower stopped being Harry's home that first night he asked to stay in your quarters." Dumbledore sounded amused, but Snape made a dismissive noise.

"It hardly matters. He has made his choice. I'd be foolish to –"

"My boy, foolish is allowing the distance of a thousand steps to come between you and Harry."

"Albus, you're not listening! He wants nothing to do with me! He has yet to return to class; he avoids me like the Plague; he… he _burned _the adoption certificate…"

Harry winced, flooded with shame at the pain in Snape's voice.

"Yes," Dumbledore said softly. "Harry is still very much a prisoner of his anger, but it shall pass… With him, it always does." The old wizard uttered a small chuckle. "You know, until last summer, I believed him the perfect mix of his parents, with his father's impulsive nature and his mother's kindness – but she had a fierce unforgiving streak in her, did she not?"

"Yes, but Harry doesn't –"

"Precisely, Severus! He does _not _have it. He bonded with you over the summer despite the rather vicious past you two share; he agreed to be your child despite your own dark past as a Death Eater!"

"I –"

"No matter what he says, Harry loves you, desperately. You need only to see the way his eyes track you when you are not looking, or how troubled he is when you miss a meal."

"That's not – that can't be my concern at the moment," Snape said, his silken voice turned shaky and unsure, "but his safety… You cannot ask me to stop protecting him, Albus."

"I would not dare –"

"You know that I am well placed outside of Hogwarts with my contacts, now. No matter how dangerous, I must continue. I must prove –"

Feeling distinctly mutinous at the thought of Snape consorting amongst Death Eaters, Harry made a small noise.

"Did you hear something?" Snape said.

Harry heard someone moving toward the door. Panicked, he crouched down, wondering if he had cast the spell incorrectly or too strongly; they should not be able to hear him.

After taking a moment to listen, Dumbledore said smoothly—too smoothly: "I could not say."

"Yes… Well… if there's nothing else, Headmaster, I must go check on Draco. I only meant to be gone a moment."

"Only this, Severus, Harry would never ask for your life as payment for past transgressions. He may still harbor some anger and uncertainty, but if he knows nothing else, he knows that you love him. You need not prove it to him this way."

"As you say." Snape muttered, sounding completely unconvinced and exhausted.

When the doorknob rattled, Harry grunted as he nearly lost his footing hightailing it back around the corner. He tucked in tight against the wall, hoping he blended in well enough with the dark shadows. The door opened and he heard the swish of robes as the men emerged from the classroom.

The muted click of boots told Harry that Snape was heading the other way, towards his quarters; Dumbledore seemed to have melded into the stone walls because he did not pass Harry on the way up from the dungeons. After a moment, Harry dared to peer out from his hiding place to check if he was alone. The corridor was empty.

*WO

Harry approached Draco after breakfast. The Slytherin looked wary, poised to dismiss him with a cold glare. Instead he said, "What do you want?"

"You're right to be keeping an eye on the professor." Harry told him.

Interest and concern sparked in Draco's eyes. "Why?"

"He's been providing intel on Voldemort to the Order since September. He's likely the reason Goyle's dad got hauled in."

Draco gaped, astonished. "September? How do you know?"

"I overheard him and Dumbledore last night. He means to keep doing it, too."

Draco hissed angrily. "He's a traitor! They'll kill him on sight! No warning, no nothing!"

"Dumbledore was trying to talk him out of it. I don't understand... Why would he do it?"

Draco uttered a bark of disbelieving laughter. "Potter, Snape will do anything to protect you." He turned on his heel, and left Harry standing there, speechless.

*WO

**Snape's Quarters, Hogwarts, April 1997 (22)**

Harry mulled over Snape and Dumbledore's conversation and pondered how a talk with the Potions master would play out. Would the man be willing to discuss his spying and why he offered shelter to Harry's parents? Or would he shut the boy down because it was all too painful to address? Harry finally decided it didn't matter. He needed answers, more importantly, he needed Snape safe. The man had been at dinner that evening, so Harry wagered he would not be leaving the castle that night. A little after 8 p.m. he trekked down to the dungeons.

Unsure if the entrance charm still worked, Harry opened his mouth to speak his name, but before he could sound it out, the door was whipped open. Draco, in the process of shifting his book bag onto his shoulder, stopped short, his face registering the same surprise that was on Harry's.

"Potter."

"I came for the rest of my stuff." Harry lied, rattling off the first thing to come to mind, wanting to keep the reason he had dropped by close.

Draco's eyes narrowed, but he said nothing, simply stood aside to open the door wider. Harry ducked past, heading toward their room.

"The professor isn't here," Draco said, stopping Harry in his tracks.

"...Oh…" Harry said, unable to mask the disappointment in his voice.

"He should be back any moment."

"Oh, well… I won't be long." Harry muttered.

When he resumed walking to the bedroom, Draco said: "If you would just –"

Fists clenched at his sides, Harry stopped again. "Malfoy, I'm really not in the mood to hear anything you have to say!"

Draco surged forward and grabbed Harry's arm. He spun the boy around to face him. "What is it going to take for you to snap out of this?"

Harry yanked free of Draco's grip. "Just so there's no confusion, Malfoy, I'm not like you! I didn't just up and decide to leave my parents! They were taken from me!"

Draco's lips thinned. "I hardly just _decided_ to leave my parents and my home, Potter. I had good reason to get out of there."

"Yeah, you finally wised up and realized you were on the losing side!"

Draco laughed – a dry, cheerless sound that had Harry wondering what a true bout of laughter from the boy would sound like. The Slytherin seemed to only manage a disturbing mirthless sound, steeped in sarcasm, or anger—though at the moment it was laced with something else.

"Despite what you've been told, Potter, being thick is not one of your more endearing traits."

"Look, Malfoy –"

"No, you look, you crazy-haired titmouse! If for once you would just listen instead of acting as if you're the only one in the world to have endured an iota of pain in your life, you'd understand that I _do_ know what you're going through!"

Something in Draco's strained expression resonated to an earlier time, then it hit Harry. "Oh, God! Crabbe, in Honeydukes…"

Draco's jaw muscles jumped in response, but he kept silent, stubbornly jutting his chin out, and shading his gray eyes beneath his lashes. Harry was reminded so strongly of Sirius, he had to blink. In that instant Harry recognized that the boy wasn't only a Malfoy, his Black ancestry flowed just as strong.

"What happened to your mum?"

Draco frowned and looked to shrink inside his robes. "…It's a long story."

"You get yourself all worked up just to tell me 'It's a long story'? Spill it!" Harry growled.

Draco opened his mouth, then started when Snape swept through the still-open door.

"Draco? Why is the –?" Wide, startled green eyes met equally startled black ones. "Harry…" Uttering the name seemed to take Snape's breath.

Suddenly, Harry couldn't blink or feel his lips. He stood there, confounded, the paralysis in his face threatening to work its way down if he didn't move or speak or something.

"I – I was just getting my things," he managed, horrified at how much he sounded like a thirteen-year old girl.

The naked longing in Snape's dark eyes unsettled him, but only because Harry knew the emotion mirrored his own. Before he could dissolve into an embarrassing blubbering mess, he decided retreat to be his best option. Because he couldn't escape through the front without bypassing Snape, he turned to make his way to his room, doing his best to ignore the hissing sounds of the two Slytherins whispering behind his back.

In his room, Fang lay sprawled across his bed like a big, breathing blanket. Seeing Harry, the dog raised his head to whuff a raspy greeting. He followed that up with a powerful tail wag that set the bed to shaking and creaking. Harry sank down onto the mattress beside the dog and buried his face in Fang's fleshy neck, savoring his warm doggy smell.

With Harry gone from the dungeons, the boarhound once again split his time between two places: Gryffindor Tower and Snape's quarters. Tonight, as he had done all week, he chose to stay in the dungeons. Harry was fine with the dog wanting to spend time with Snape, but he missed him when he did.

"Hey, boy." He whispered.

To Fang's sensitive ears, Harry didn't sound right, but because the dog couldn't ask the boy what was troubling him, he used his nose to scent out the problem. Typically Fang loved Harry's smell because he smelled sort of wild and sweet, like sunshine, but now he smelled sad; it clung to him like smoke. He had not reeked of it so intensely since last summer when he had learned of Remus's death. The dog whined softly as the cloying odor assaulted his sensitive nose. Then he angled his head to gently scrape his large tongue along the back of Harry's neck, as if to rid him of that sadness.

The gentle tongue lashing reminded Harry powerfully of nights spent before the fire at Soth-ince and in the dungeons. If he allowed it, he could hear Snape's quill scratching along a sheet of parchment and he could hear Fang's soft whimpers and snores as he slept. The thought of never having those things again burned fierce, stoking an ache that forced Harry to curl up beside the dog and sob, deep wracking cries that rocked the bed. Within seconds a weight settled near his head. Strong hands gripped his shoulders, urging him up, pulling him close.

"NO!" Harry fought, pushing against that narrow chest. He was already weak from being angry with Snape, from missing him, but he was weakened even further, brought low by the feel of Snape's arms around him and the dastardly aroma of cinnamon and cloves. That smell never failed to soothe him; it was like magic.

"Shhh…" The quiet hiss ruffled Harry's hair. In an instant, he surrendered, collapsing face first into Snape's chest.

"I hate you!" Harry said, his words muffled against the man's robes. "I _hate_ you!"

"I know." Snape's arms tightened around the boy, cradling him even closer.

"Why – why didn't you tell me?" Harry sobbed and clutched at Snape's robes.

"To avoid this – to avoid hurting you. …I should have told you. I was being terribly selfish because I –" Snape choked. "Forgive me, forgive me, forgive me..." He muttered into Harry's hair and squeezed the boy tighter.

Since learning of Snape's part in the prophecy, Harry had given little thought to what the man could say to make things right. Instead he had been consumed with trying to reconcile the Snape he had come to know with the man Snape had been all those years ago. How could a man who had harbored such blinding hatred for James Potter adopt his child? And how could he deny Harry the truth of his part in his parents' deaths? And how could he then expect forgiveness for such a blatant, hypocritical deception?

Once, Harry might have believed that the sound of those words was exactly what he needed to hear, but now he frowned at them. He couldn't bear to hear Snape begging. Snape didn't beg. It felt wrong, so he pushed off from the man, but Snape was slow to let go, as if it physically hurt to do so.

"I want to forgive you," Harry said, eyes down, "I do, but… I don't know how…"

"It is a lot to ask," Snape said.

"But I still want… I don't want…" Harry paused to breathe, then he looked up into Snape's eyes. "You called me your son that night… in Dumbledore's office."

"Yes," the man said, his voice just above a whisper, but his black eyes blazed with a protectiveness that burned, warming Harry from the inside out. That look overwhelmed him, left him feeling weak and needy and loved. He lowered his chin to his chest, then drew his brows tightly together, trying to sort out his feelings.

"How can I still want that? _How? _Last summer I told Hermione that out of everyone, you'd been the only one to be honest with me! But you lied! You've lied since the beginning! And I defended you! To everyone, even Dumbledore!"

"Yes."

Harry looked up and waited, thinking the man would have more to say beyond a simple 'Yes', but Snape remained silent.

"What do you want from me?" Harry asked quietly.

Snape inhaled sharply before speaking. "Beyond your safety, anything I want isn't important," he said. "I look at you, and see every wrong I've ever perpetrated. Sometimes it's impossible to look at you... those eyes." Harry lowered his lashes, shading the brilliant green gifts from Lily. Snape cupped his chin to bring his gaze back up. "Sometimes it's difficult to look at you, because all that I've done is in the slump of your shoulders, in the drag of your feet… in the fire of your anger, anger I fully deserve."

Harry sighed.

"I never…" Snape began. "Before we left Hogwarts seventh year, Lily and I came to an understanding, we'd made up in sense. I would have never deliberately… Harry, hear me: I didn't know the Dark Lord would target her."

"I know," Harry said, dragging his sleeve under his nose. "I talked to Aberforth the other night. He told me – he said that you offered my parents refuge."

Snape nodded heavily. "Yes, but, too late. Albus was unable to reach them in time. They had switched their Secret-Keeper to Pettigrew, and he was busy with his little farce involving Black."

"I wish Sirius really had killed him." Harry glanced up at Snape, expecting a stern reproval but the man simply reached to push Harry's fringe aside, revealing that lightning-shaped mark carved into his skin. Snape's fingers lingered, tracing the jagged angles. Normally, Harry would have balked at being touched there, but now he leaned into the touch. Closing his eyes, he realized he had only ever felt so reassured and treasured in his mother's arms. And Snape's.

"I die a bit every day at the thought of how I failed you." Snape whispered. "I told the Dark Lord of the prophecy – I denied you the truth about it. Like Pettigrew, I betrayed –"

"Don't!" Harry moaned. "It doesn't change anything! Pettigrew, Wormtail, _he's_ the one that told Voldemort where to find my family. He's the real betrayer. He –" Harry stopped as a hot rush of bile filled his throat. Putting distance between him and Snape, again, he pulled his knees up and buried his head between them. Wrapping his arms over head, he began to sob anew.

Aberforth had been right: Snape had played his part, but Pettigrew and Voldemort, _they_ were the killers; _they_ had robbed Harry of the life he should have had. And listening to Snape, Harry realized that he hadn't needed to punish the man; Snape had been doing a spectacular job of it all on his own. The man clearly hated himself more than Harry ever could.

Snape shifted to envelope Harry in his arms once more. Harry allowed it. He didn't become pliant, but he didn't stiffen up, either; he simply let Snape hold him.

"I know you need time. I don't dare rush you, but when you are ready..." Snape paused, caressing Harry's hair. After a moment, he loosened his hold. "You came to get your things, yes?"

Harry looked confused for a moment, then he remembered his lie. He sniffed loudly before slowly nodding his head.

"I'll leave you to it then." Snape rose from the bed, his dark eyes filled with a reluctant understanding.

Draco, who had invited himself into the room soon after Snape entered, frowned. "But –"

"No, Draco. Let him go." Snape held the door open. Draco cast a confused and mildly angry glance at Harry before shaking his head and turning to leave. Without looking back, Snape followed, closing the door with a quiet snap.

WO*

**Snape's Quarters, Hogwarts, April 1997 (23)**_**Just after midnight…**_

Harry skulked around Gryffindor Tower, disappointed in how things had gone with Snape. He hadn't expected the man to let him go so easily, but he hadn't known how to manipulate the situation so that he could stay. He bemoaned having missed his chance to confront the man about what he had overheard, as well as the chance to say that Dumbledore was right: Harry didn't want Snape risking himself to prove that he loved him, and while he was Lily's son, he wasn't Lily; he couldn't hold a grudge.

So, he donned his Invisibility Cloak just after 1:00 a.m. and headed for Snape's quarters to tell him so.

Steps away from Snape's door, Harry drew back because the heavy oak door was swinging open. Snape stepped out and Harry had to choke down a scream. The man was clad in his typical head-to-toe black, but these robes were distinctly different from anything Harry had ever seen him in – outside of that night last June.

When his eyes strayed low to the oval flash of white in Snape's hand, a chill stuttered its way along the boy's spine: Snape had hold of a white mask, paler even than the light of the moon.

WO*

**Hogwarts, April 1997 (23)**_**Breakfast…**_

"Malfoy, can I have a word?"

Draco gave an irritated sigh, but after observing Harry's smudge-eyed appearance, he waved Blaise and Theo on their way, then followed Harry outside. Their breaths plumed in the unseasonably chill morning air as they huddled in a silent corner of the courtyard. Nestled against the edges of the castle where it met the ground, patches of icy snow lingered from March's blizzard. Harry kicked at a sliver of it, loosening it. Draco stamped his feet and rubbed his hands together briskly, already eyeing the entrance back into the castle.

"I was outside the door last night and I saw Snape leave," Harry said.

"And you were surprised?" Draco replied, lips pursed in annoyance.

"No. But… he was dressed up like a Death Eater. He had the mask, those robes..." Harry gestured at his own robes, his insides cramping at the memory.

Draco paled at the picture the man must have made. Seeing Snape in full Death Eater regalia was not new to him; he'd spent enough time in the company of Death Eaters since Voldemort's return, but that was before he knew Snape had been spying for the Order. Things were different now. He understood why Harry was so horrified.

"We need to find a way to stop him leaving," Harry said.

Draco stopped fidgeting to stare at him. "'We?'"

"Yes, Malfoy, we..."

Draco snorted softly. "Clever. Wish _I'd_ thought of it."

"Malfoy…"

"Well, what's your plan for stopping him, then? You know how he is when it comes to you."

Harry bit his tongue against the acid remark dying to escape. He didn't want to fight with Malfoy; he needed the boy's help.

"To _us_, Malfoy, when it comes to _us._" He ground out.

Draco rolled his eyes. "So, what's your plan?" He repeated, then slipped on a pair of black leather gloves.

Harry gave a little shrug and blinked blankly. "I figured you had one."

"Of course." Draco muttered, tugging his collar up.

"Well, you're the one who had the idea in the first place! Didn't you already have something worked out?"

"Yes, but, my idea might seem incredibly tame compared to all the useless, juvenile, imbecilic foolishness you've been up –"

"Fine, then! What's _your _brilliant idea?"

"We confront him, of course." Draco drawled smugly.

Harry thought a moment. Draco was right. They already knew the man was leaving the castle. Confronting him with that was all that remained.

As if he just realized it was freezing outside, Harry jabbed his wind-reddened hands into his arm pits. Draco muttered something thick with irritation under his breath and pulled out his wand. Harry flinched when the Slytherin tapped his hands with it. Monster-sized gloves of blood red wool appeared with a pop. Draco's brows shot up and his lips twitched.

"Shut it!" Harry mumbled with an embarrassed glare. He had to find a gentle way of telling Hermione to stop knitting things for him. "So, tonight, after dinner?" he said.

"Fine," Draco said, then headed back into the castle.

*WO

**Snape's Quarters, Hogwarts, April 1997 (23)**_** Late evening…**_

After dinner, Harry made his way to the dungeons. As arranged, Draco met him at the door and they entered the sitting room together.

"You lied," Harry said, denying Snape the chance to get used to the sight of him.

Snape, sitting in a chair next to the fire, blinked and frowned. "I beg your pardon?"

"You told Malfoy not to worry when you leave the castle."

Snape closed the novel he had been reading and set it aside. "I did _not_ lie to you. As you two are determined to be both tragically and willfully obtuse, I will repeat myself: What I do outside Hogwarts is my business –"

"Malfoy and I are your business, too, or have you forgotten?"

Snape swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing and gliding along his slim throat as he absorbed Harry's words.

"You needn't remind me of my responsibilities," he said quietly.

"Obviously I do!" Harry said. "What'll happen to us if you're captured? Do you have any idea what we would do to get you back?"

"Potter..."

"No, Malfoy! I'm sick of this! I'm sick to death of losing everybody I love to that snake-faced monster!"

"Harry…" said Snape, rising to his feet. In response, Harry shuffled backwards, bringing his arms up, holding his hands out to keep the man at bay.

"_Don't!_ Just because I'm still mad at you doesn't mean I can't worry! It doesn't mean I want you to d-die..."

Snape sighed and shook his head. "Harry, there is nothing to worry about. I –"

"Stop lying!" Harry shouted. The man was playing hide-and-go-seek with Voldemort; Harry had everything to worry about!

"You want to watch your tone." Snape fired back, piercing Harry with a dark look, one that should have made the boy nervous, but because he _knew _Snape was lying, Harry only got angrier.

"Well, then, you just do what you want!" He growled. "You just go out there and get killed! I don't care!"

Helpless tears sprang to his eyes, but he didn't dare let Snape see them. He turned to run, but was hauled back by strong arms.

"Let me go!" Harry screamed, struggling to get free. "You're a dead man! You're just like S-Sirius! DEAD!"

Snape wrestled with the boy, his chest plastered to Harry's back as he tried to get him under control, but Harry continued to flail about, tears raining down, fogging his vision. Finally Snape cried: "Damn it! Harry, stop it! I can't… _Please!_"

At the note of desperation in Snape's voice, Harry fell limp.

Winded from tussling with the boy, Snape gasped, "Harry..." He began stroking the messy tufts of black hair, a calming gesture seemingly as much for him as for Harry. "Come. Sit."

Harry let Snape lead him to the sofa where the man held him close. After taking a moment to wind down, Harry relaxed against Snape's chest, resting his head just over the man's heart. Pressing his ear against it, he marveled as it beat a frantic, fierce rhythm. A thought flashed through his mind—that he would wish his own heart to stop if Snape's did. He shivered and Snape gathered him closer still, thinking the boy had caught a chill.

"Listen to me," Snape said, keeping his tone deliberately soothing. "I am not dead, nor do I plan on dying anytime soon." Harry shook his head against Snape's chest, swiping angrily at the tears still leaking from his eyes. "Stop it." Snape chided.

"But, why are you doing it?"

"Because, as I told you, nothing matters more to me than keeping you and Draco safe."

"What good is it if you end up d-dead?" Harry couldn't temper the petulant, needy hitch in his voice; Snape running his fingers through his hair didn't help matters.

"I'm not concerned with what happens to me."

"Well, we are!" Harry blurted.

"Yes…" Snape whispered, then cleared his throat, "but, I've lived a life. You and Draco are just beginning yours."

"And we want you there," Draco said quietly.

Snape looked over to find the young Slytherin perched in the seat he had just vacated, concern lining his sharp features. For months—since the start of the new year, really—Draco had exuded a quiet, self-assured dignity, a behavior that was a far cry from the whinging, sneering, self-involved persona he had worn like skin for years without hint of remorse. Snape knew the boy's escape from Malfoy Manor had a lot to do with that; he also knew what it cost Draco to turn informant for the Order. Having experienced the same life-altering upheaval eighteen years ago, Snape understood the decision had both scarred and healed the boy. Upon inviting Draco to move into his quarters, Snape had feared being able to handle two excitable and demanding boys whose personalities clashed, but the change in Draco had been a most pleasant and welcome surprise. With his newly acquired levelheadedness, Draco complemented Harry's reckless and high-strung nature perfectly.

"We wouldn't thank you," Draco continued, "or consider you particularly brave if you went and got yourself killed because you believe you've something to prove to us. You don't."

Snape opened his mouth to interject, but Draco held up a hand.

"Now, while I find the idea desperately unseemly, particularly for a Mal –, for me, just know that I would not be above… begging you to stop inviting danger upon yourself in our names," Draco said. Snape shifted beneath that disconcerting, and familiar gray-eyed gaze. Harry looked at Draco, too; that the boy loved Snape utterly could not have been plainer. Harry felt Snape's heart begin to slow.

"Draco," Snape began.

"You know none of what you've done in the past can be changed no matter what you do, so this twisted attempt at atonement is –"

Atonement. The word rang in Harry's head like a gong. He jerked back to gape up at Snape. A snapshot of the man's expression from last summer at Soth-ince flashed through Harry's brain and his own cold words came back to haunt him: _'And, if anybody needs atonement, it's probably you!'_

"Is that what you're doing?" Harry demanded, pushing out of the man's embrace. "Is that why you're going on these suicide missions? Atonement?"

"Harry –"

"You're doing it because of what happened to my parents, aren't you?" Then an even darker, more painful question occurred to Harry, one he had no choice but to ask. "That's – Is that why you wanted to adopt me?" He whispered, eyes wide with horror.

"Merlin, boy! No!" Snape looked stricken as he gripped Harry's shoulders. Looking into the man's eyes Harry believed him, but…

"Then _why_ are you leaving us?"

Snape swallowed. "I have my reasons."

_How irritatingly uninspired_, Harry thought. The man had spouted the same flabby nonsense last September, skating around why his behavior had changed so drastically following that meeting with Dumbledore. It didn't wash then, and it wasn't washing now.

"Dumbledore doesn't want you to do it!" Harry said. "Why won't –"

Snape frowned. "How do you know that?"

Harry flushed at having given the game away. "I, er, sort of overheard you in your classroom the other night." Snape stared. "I tweaked the privacy spell." Harry admitted sheepishly.

"I see."

Harry held the man's gaze. "So, why won't you listen to him?"

"Oh, now you think I should listen to him?"

"Don't do that!" Harry's lips pulled down in a disapproving frown. "It's not funny! You don't have to do this! I don't like it, any of it! It's not funny!"

"No." Snape agreed solemnly, running a hand over Harry's head. "Nothing to do with the Dark Lord is. But, Harry... I'll be fine. _We_ will be fine." Snape pulled Harry back to him, squeezing him to emphasize his point.

*WO

**Potions Classroom, Hogwarts, April 1997 (25)**

The bell rang, signaling the end of class. Harry stuffed his books into his bag and stood to join Ron and Hermione, ready to leave, but he halted when Snape called for him to stay after.

"We'll be outside," Ron said, trying his level best not to sound too unsupportive. Harry might be determined to reconcile with Snape, but Ron trusted the man about as much as he trusted Hagrid's nightmarish spider friend, Aragog; in contrast, Hermione flashed Harry a bright encouraging grin which he answered with a tense nod.

"It pleases me that you have returned to class," Snape said once Harry reached his desk.

"Yes, sir," Harry said.

Snape's surprise had been hard to miss; his jaw had gone slack when Harry stepped into the room. Draco's reaction had been no less impossible to miss. Spotting Harry, Blaise had elbowed his seatmate in the side, then pitched his chin toward the door. After connecting with Harry's eyes for the briefest of seconds, Draco snapped his head around to take in Snape's reaction.

The man had been standing behind his desk, shifting through a pile of parchment, but when he saw Harry, the parchment fluttered to the floor, creating a whispery, airy sound like a prolonged exhale of breath. He had gripped the edge of the desk to brace his shaking hands, but it took only seconds for him to compose himself. He then called the class to order before the whispers about Harry's unexpected appearance got out of hand.

Over the next hour and fifteen minutes, Snape went on to teach a flawless lesson, pelting the students with questions like an air force gunner. He seemed unconcerned with whether Harry was able to follow along and called on the boy to answer several tricky questions – a couple of which Harry got wrong, but some of which he got right. Harry tried hard not to preen when every right answer was followed by a staid, "Well done, Mr. Potter."

"You've missed rather a lot of classes," Snape said. His dark eyes were liquid and restless as they scanned every inch of Harry. Despite having held the boy in his arms only a few nights before, he seemed unable to believe Harry was real and standing before him.

"Hermione tried to help me to keep up, but…" Harry lifted his left shoulder as a way to finish his thought.

"Yes, well… You did well today, but you will need a thorough review of the questions you missed."

"Yes, sir." Harry nodded. "I'm ready to do whatever it takes to make things right."

Snape swallowed audibly, then crossed his arms over his chest. He nodded once, twice, at a clear loss for words as the boy's determined tone obviously had nothing to do with revising Potions questions.

A shuffling sound out in the corridor grew in volume, announcing the arrival of Snape's next class: third-year Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs. Their imminent approach sharpened the knife's-edge-like tension in the classroom with the two wizards squared off, each dying to say something, but strangely unable to find the words.

All too soon, students began to trickle in. As with all of Snape's classes, the moment they crossed the threshold into the classroom, they fell silent. Normally, Snape would be positioned in front of his desk, his eyes clocking them, as if daring them to behave badly – not that this group of Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs would – but this time, the man's attention was elsewhere.

"I… I think a bit of tutoring after dinner over the next couple of weeks should effectively bring you up to speed," Snape said to Harry. "You learned a tremendous amount last summer, so it shouldn't be exceedingly difficult for you."

"Oh, well, I had a fantastic tea –"

"Harry!" Ron called from the doorway. "Transfiguration, mate! McGonagall'll skin us alive if we're late, again!"

Harry turned to wave an impatient hand at Ron in acknowledgment, then he turned back to Snape, mouth open to finish his sentence.

"Go," the man interrupted, slight crinkles of amusement framing his eyes. "Skinless would not be a good look on you."

Harry's lips quirked up into a smile, yet oddly he felt like crying. The things he wanted to say lay thick on his tongue, but his throat had seized up, shrinking to the circumference of a sipping straw. When tears suddenly welled up in his eyes, he panicked. The urge to burst into noisy, braying sobs overwhelmed him. But he didn't dare fall apart in front of Snape, so to crush it, he looked down and hefted his book bag up into a more comfortable position on his shoulder, but the urge persisted, so he turned to leave.

"Harry?"

Harry stopped, but didn't turn around. He couldn't. Finally, a light touch to his shoulder freed him to move. At the sight of Harry's water-filled eyes, the lines of concern around Snape's eyes relaxed. When a tear escaped, plotting a singular silvery path down Harry's cheek, Snape lifted a hand, aiming to brush it away. Harry closed his eyes and gravitated forward. He would have allowed it – would have allowed the comfort of having Snape wipe away his tears, but then the bell rang. Its grating sound filled the room, jolting the boy from what had felt like a dream state.

He knuckled the wetness from his cheek and said: "I've got to go."

Snape's hands fell back to his sides as he nodded.

"Is – is tonight okay to start?" Harry asked.

Snape blinked in confusion.

"The _tutoring_?"

"Oh… yes," Snape said, but it came out raspy. He cleared his throat. "Yes. Why don't… Instead of dining in the Great Hall, how about dinner in my quarters? We could begin after we eat."

"POTTER!" Ron shouted. The already tightly wound third-years, out of sorts because of the change in class routine, jumped in their seats, making a racket of rattling desks.

"Ron! I'll be right there!" Harry called over his shoulder, annoyed.

For most of Hogwarts' younger students, spotting Harry Potter at meals or in a corridor was a thrill. Second and third-year girls giggled and squealed into the books they clutched to their budding chests when they passed him. The boys, working diligently to appear unaffected by the Chosen One, simply shot a casual nod in his direction, but when Harry gave a friendly nod back, they usually turned beet red and their eyes grew too big for their faces. Ron once said that no matter how cool they played it, the boys always looked like they were a breath away from a girly squeal, too.

Noting the mix of adoring and curious gazes among the third-year lot, Harry blushed. Unsettled, he whipped back to face Snape. "Sorry 'bout yelling," he said, though the man didn't seem the least bit bothered. "Um… Is six okay?"

Snape dipped his chin. "Of course."

"All right, well… Bye, then." Harry jogged to the door, doggedly ignoring the girlish titters of a couple Hufflepuffs ogling and pointing at him. Then a bit of parchment came out of nowhere, aimed at him, but the culprit overshot and it plonked Ron on the forehead.

Harry laughed at his friend's peeved expression as Ron kicked the parchment back into the classroom. Just as Harry opened his mouth, ready to welcome the redhead into the Marked Forehead Club, something extraordinary occurred: a blast of emotion hit his back, making him gasp. The surge had come from Snape's direction. _Happiness._ It made Harry's hair stand on end and his skin prickle. Overcome, he had another fit of laughter.

Ron, rubbing at the red mark on his forehead, thought Harry's laughter directed at him. He scowled and turned to leave, but then let out a squawk of surprise when Harry jumped onto his back, crowing: "Onward to Transfiguration, Jeeves!" Dean and Neville broke out into giggling snorts when Ron tried to shake Harry off, but the bespectacled boy had twined his legs tightly around Ron's waist, and his arms around Ron's neck, making it impossible to dislodge him.

As the grumbling redhead ("You're bloody ch-choking me!") started up the corridor, Harry looked back, managing a glimpse of Snape before the man secured the door. His black eyes shone with good humor and something else, something that looked like hope. It made Harry feel light as a feather.

*WO

**Snape's Quarters, Hogwarts, April 1997 (25)**

At six o'clock, Harry knocked on the door to Snape's quarters. Like the last time he had come, he was tempted to speak his name to see if the charm allowing him entrance still worked, but he didn't want to be disappointed in case it didn't. He wanted dinner to go well and not have his mood hinge on something as insignificant as a charmed door, so he knocked.

"Why didn't you use your password?" Draco asked after opening the door.

"Oh… I didn't know if it would work."

"You know he'd never disable it, you daft dunce."

Harry sighed, stepping into the entry hall. "Do you have a stash of those somewhere? You just pull one out when you're feeling arsey?"

"It's called rapier wit, Potter. I was born with it."

"You were born with something that rhymes with wit..."

"Ingenious, Potter. Come in and sit down."

Harry nearly took a step to follow Draco, but those words hit him the wrong way. "Don't act like I've never been here before, Malfoy."

Draco stopped and stared, taken aback, then he pinched his lips together. "Fine," he said coldly.

Harry bit his tongue, sensing that he had perhaps overreacted. Crap. He was mucking up the evening already and he hadn't been there five minutes.

"Look, I know you're just being… polite, Malfoy, but really, don't treat me like a stranger."

Draco hitched a brow. "Well, aren't you? I mean, you've been gone longer than you lived here – or at least since I've been here, so you'll have to forgive me if I am treating you like a 'stranger.'"

With a nasty shock, Harry realized that Draco was right. Draco had moved in the day after Valentine's Day and Harry had gone to live in Gryffindor Tower not long after. They were in the last days of April now, which meant he had been gone from the dungeons for more than a month. It _had_ been a long time.

"Seeing you in class was a surprise," Draco said, aiming for a change of topic.

"Yeah," Harry said, following the boy into the sitting room. "It was time. Er, where's the professor?"

"Out with that monstrous mutt of yours."

Harry snorted. "Despite you acting like he wants to eat you, he likes you. You could cut him some slack, you know."

"He's a big slobbery menace. I have no reason to 'cut him some slack,'" Draco said, then he looked at Harry, curious. "Anything wrong?"

Harry had a repertoire of mannerisms that Draco had come to know: hands in the pockets meant Harry was feeling either terribly embarrassed or deeply apologetic. Just now, he judged the boy was apologetic; Draco took pride in noting that Gryffindor didn't disappoint when Harry shifted and stuffed his hands into his pockets.

"Well... since we have a minute, I… need to apologize for…" A hand through the hair—irritated or nervous…

Repressing a smirk, Draco said, "For what? If this is about the damage you did to my lip…"

"No," Harry said, "it's not that, although, now you mention it, it looks all right."

Draco glared as Harry peered at his mouth. "Pomfrey works wonders," he said peevishly.

"Yeah, well, I'm sorry for it, but you pissed me off, saying I was like your father."

"He's not my father," Draco said tightly. He pointed at the mustard-colored skin around Harry's left eye. "Why didn't you get Pomfrey to do something about that?"

Harry smirked. "It's a black eye; I've had worse. Plus, Hermione likes to baby me when I'm hurt. And, I'm no pretty boy, like you."

Draco's eyes narrowed at the unexpected compliment, then he said, "If that's not what you really wanted to apologize for, what then?"

"Oh, well, when we rowed, I said some things… I know you weren't jealous of me, but I was of you."

Draco sighed dramatically as he sprawled in a chair. "Well, of course you are."

"…Was, Malfoy, _was_."

Draco looked at Harry, considering. "I wasn't trying to take your place with him."

"You couldn't," Harry said, before he even knew he had formed the words.

Draco let out a soft laugh. "Touché… I'm just saying –"

Harry shook his head, not wanting things to devolve into another row of name-calling and insults. "Forget it, Malfoy, 'specially if you're aimin' for some long-winded, Slytherin-style explanation."

Draco looked affronted. "Slytherins are not long-winded. We simply like to be precise in our language so that those with a primitive vocabulary can follow along."

"Like I said," Harry muttered, trying not to roll his eyes.

Just as he was about to settle on the sofa the front door opened. His heartbeat went from zero to sixty in the space of a second. He ached to dash out into the hallway to greet Snape, but he refrained, not wanting to seem too eager or desperate, depending on you looked at it.

The clicking of toenails across the stone floor announced Fang's presence. Instantly scenting Harry, the dog barked and rocketed into the sitting room where he began to snuffle noisily about Harry's hips.

"Oy!" Harry said, dropping to his knees to be at eye-level with the dog. "Missed me, yeah? Been spending all your time down here, lately."

"Unfortunately," Draco offered in a dry aside. Fang stamped a paw and whuffed at him, making Harry laugh.

"Thank you for coming," said Snape softly from the doorway. He was standing with his arms crossed over his chest, taking in the scene before him.

Harry looked up at him and smiled shyly, glad to note that the man's eyes had not lost their sparkle from that morning.

"Dobby has set things up for dinner," Draco said.

"Fine," Snape replied. He gestured toward the kitchen. "Shall we?"

Grinning, Harry jumped to his feet. "Yes! I'm starved!"

"When are you not?" Draco drawled as he led the way to the kitchen.

"When are you not insufferable?" Harry shot back.

A blond brow went skyward. "Back to normal, are we?"

"Yup," Harry said smugly, then stumbled over his loose shoe lace.

Draco snorted. "Klutz."

"Chicken lips."

"Pinhead."

"Boys…"

*WO

**A/N**: Typically, I reply to everyone that reviews. I'm not sure if it is a consequence of the upgrades done to FF, but I was unable to reply to several reviewers, so I want to take this time to thank **Judy 516**,** mischabren**,and** Trumpet Lover **for their comments. For everyone that alerted or favorited (is that even a word?), THANK YOU! ~Ruth7019


	24. Chapter 24

**A/N**: I busted this chapter up into two parts, hence the dual posts. It was far too long to read in one gulp, I think... Here goes. ~Ruth7019

Disclaimer: JK Rowling's characters.

**Dumbledore's Office, Hogwarts, May 1997 (05)**

While dining in the Great Hall one evening, the left side of Harry's face itched with the feeling of being watched. At the High Table, Snape and Dumbledore sat with their heads close together, black and blue eyes on him. Harry—fork overflowing with roasted potatoes, green beans, and a bit of lamb—hitched his eyebrows in a question at them.

"_Harry, if you have a moment after dinner I would appreciate a word with you in my office, please_."

Harry detested having his mind invaded by Legilimency without fair warning, but he responded anyway: "_Of course, Headmaster. Anything wrong?_"

"_No, my boy. The password is _acid pops."

Harry nodded, curious what Dumbledore had to say—though if it was something to do with Snape, the old wizard could divulge nothing that would surprise Harry. He and Snape had talked long into the night after that first dinner. Determined to crush any hint of deception between them, Snape had avowed to be upfront about anything Harry might have a question about; Harry believed that had he asked, Snape would have detailed every grisly bit of his time as a Death Eater to prove it.

He braced himself anyway. Dumbledore had a wicked depth of knowledge about everyone and everything. It was entirely possible he had some little known tidbit about Snape up his sleeve.

*WO

"Ah, Harry, thank you for coming." The old wizard motioned for the boy to take a seat. "I must say, it gladdens me that you and Severus have resolved your differences."

"Yes, sir."

"I hope you now understand why I did not share what he and I discussed in that meeting last August, why I thought he should be the one to tell you."

"…Yes."

"You should know that in that meeting he informed me that I tend to both underestimate and overestimate you. I took great exception to it then, but have since realized that he was quite right. As such, I wish to avoid another costly mistake, either way."

Harry shifted, unsure of where Dumbledore was headed.

"History has shown us that in troubling times it is always tempting to hitch one's hopes and fears onto someone perceived as more potent," Dumbledore said. "Such behavior is hardly unusual—especially when something as extraordinary as what happened at Godric's Hollow occurs. It is why many in the wizarding world still cling to you as our salvation… Harry, it is why Severus continues to insert himself into perilous situations."

Harry gripped the arms of his chair. "Then why can't you stop him leaving the castle?"

"I have tried… as you know." Dumbledore eyed Harry shrewdly, but the boy felt not a tinge of guilt for having overheard that conversation; if he hadn't, he and Snape might never have reconciled. "You also know that Severus would rather die than put you and young Mr. Malfoy at risk."

"He's so bloody stubborn!"

Dumbledore smiled. "As he has always been. I rather expect that will not change simply because we wish it to. …You two are extraordinarily alike in that sense."

That was nothing new. Aberforth had said as much all those months ago when Dumbledore had summoned Snape to the castle—when the old wizard had sought to sever the bond between Harry and Snape. That prickly remembrance brought a question to the boy's mind.

"Sir? Why did you go to the Ministry with the professor instead of Aberforth?"

"Ah, well, my brother and I had a talk. He called me out as a 'doddering old fool'—to put it mildly, then demanded I make things right with Severus. I have not always been so accommodating of Aberforth's wishes… Nevertheless, I did as he asked."

"Thank you," Harry said quietly, surprised when a light flush tinted Dumbledore's cheeks.

"Oh, not at all, my dear boy, not at all. You know, you are among a handful of people Severus has loved. It took a great deal of convincing before he allowed me to go, but it was my honor to sign my name on that parchment."

Harry's lips tightened against his teeth as he envisioned that golden sheet in flames on the floor of Snape's sitting room.

Dumbledore's eyes narrowed gently. "Harry, you know that you do not need a piece of parchment to prove that you are Severus's son."

Harry jerked his head in nod. "Yes, sir."

"Excellent. Well, I have just one other thing." Dumbledore tented his hands beneath his woolly chin. "You and young Mr. Malfoy, you share a deep love for Severus. It binds you despite your rather indifferent feelings for one another."

"We get on all right," Harry said in defense of himself. And Malfoy.

"Yes, but 'getting on all right' is hardly sufficient for what lies ahead. Time is short. Voldemort has plans to make inroads on the school."

Harry shot forward in his chair. "When?"

"Well, as there would be little point to attacking the castle when it stands empty of students, all signs point to rather sooner than later."

"That's why you kicked up the number of drills and defense sessions."

"Yes."

The first day back after the Christmas holiday, Dumbledore had set up evacuation and battle drills to be carried out twice a week; three weeks ago, they became a daily event. With the Great Hall serving as the practice room, after dinner, each Head of House, aided by seventh and sixth-years, trained the younger forms in Defense Against the Dark Arts. Though no one had felt obliged to point out the weak links in the flow of information, most breathed sighs of relief when Dumbledore implemented the Sneak Jinx Hermione had used to ferret out betrayers in Dumbledore's Army last term.

There were also signs Dumbledore had beefed up security. Hermione had pointed out as much when Bill stayed for dinner one evening weeks ago. Ron had pooh-poohed her, certain his brother wouldn't keep something like that from him and Ginny. However, when a succession of guests began to appear at subsequent meals, and Moody took to sitting in on various training sessions, unnerving the younger students with that spinning blue eye of his, Ron changed his tune.

"Lots of people from the Order been popping in and out of the castle," Harry said.

"Yes, the Order is on call. Many remain in hiding, but when alerted, they too will come." Dumbledore fixed Harry with another keen look. "But, you and your merry band of spies already know this, yes?"

Harry tried to hide his surprise, but Dumbledore was Dumbledore—the old wizard probably knew when Harry simply _thought_ about going to the loo. Yet, what the man had just disclosed was not all that shocking because as he had said, they did know. Still, hearing it made it concrete, sliced it out of the realm of a creepy bedtime story they could playfully spook one another with.

War was coming.

Harry picked at his cuticles, green eyes glued to the sharp blue of Dumbledore's. "I'd be lying if I said I was ready for it, for facing Voldemort."

"I would be terribly concerned if you claimed otherwise." Dumbledore ran a thin finger over his lips. "You and Severus continue to have words about your part in the coming battle."

It wasn't a question. Either Snape had become comfortable confiding in Dumbledore, or the old wizard had bugged Snape's quarters.

"Da – er, he just doesn't want me to feel that it's my burden, alone."

Dumbledore leaned forward. "But you are not alone, Harry; not now, nor once the battle begins. You will have a powerful army behind you, all willing to give their lives to provide you that perfect moment to strike—myself included."

Harry scoffed. "You're the most powerful wizard alive. He couldn't hurt you."

Dumbledore dipped his head in an elegant nod. "It is terribly kind of you to say so, but you and I both know that is not true." Harry's grin faded. Dumbledore continued: "Though I cannot guarantee an outcome in our favor, I cannot deny how important you are to a favorable outcome. Harry, no one alive has the power you possess."

Harry said nothing, trying hard not to resent the truth of the old wizard's words. Yes, he had more power than he knew what to do with, but he was no Dumbledore! Dumbledore had defeated Grindelwald. He had once told Harry that he didn't need an Invisibility Cloak to be invisible! The man had more than a century of life and magical experiences to draw on—which begged the question: How was Harry Potter, at sixteen years of age, supposed to defeat an evil like Voldemort?

Reading Harry's defeated expression Dumbledore rose to step around his desk. He held out his arms, prompting Harry to stand as well. White magic fairly thrummed throughout the man's body as he took Harry's face into his hands: "You feel your magic a burden—that it possesses you. You could not be more wrong. It is _you_ who possesses _it._ Your magic is a wondrous gift, Harry, and I cannot think of anyone more aptly suited to wield such power."

Harry tried to lower his chin, but Dumbledore held fast. "And I know you think it trite, the belief that love cures all ills, but Harry, your heart, not your cunning will destroy Lord Voldemort. The love you have for those around you, not clever militaristic strategies will put paid to him. Certainly those things will be helpful, but love, Harry, is what will defeat him. You felt it at the Ministry when he tried to inhabit your body. He is utterly repelled by the emotion."

Dumbledore rested his hands on Harry's shoulders. "I know Severus feels differently. I find it unbearably cruel as well, but in the end, it _will _come down to you."

"I know," Harry said as he held his headmaster's gaze.

"Everything you need is here." Dumbledore practically growled as he pressed a thin hand over Harry's heart. "Use it!"

*WO

**Room of Requirement, Hogwarts, May 1997 (09)**

Again, seeing Harry became a hit-or-miss affair for his dorm mates. As Snape continued to doggedly ignore his and Draco's pleas to stop leaving the castle (and plagued by the uncertainty of which trip might be the man's last), Harry rarely left the dungeons. To spend time with him, Ron broke down and followed Hermione's 'advice' to visit the bowels of the castle.

Harry appreciated the gesture because the nights Snape was gone, he and Draco either lay awake in their beds or sprawled in the sitting room fighting sleep, counting the minutes until the man's return. Sometimes Snape didn't drag himself in until the sun was creeping up the horizon.

Ron never stayed that long, but when he was there, he and Harry alternated between playing wizard chess, trying out whatever sample Fred and George had owled Harry ('S'barmy how they're all the time sending you stuff and never me!' Ron complained), gossiping (to Draco's chagrin, though his quill always stopped moving when talk turned to who was dating who), or talking Quidditch strategy (in the bedroom, shielded by a strong silencing spell and a Secrecy Sensor).

"You and Malfoy getting on all right?" Ron asked Harry one night as they wolfed down ham sandwiches and swilled butterbeer in Snape's kitchen. The man was away from the castle, and Blaise and Theo had persuaded Draco to eat in the Great Hall.

"More or less," Harry said, the tip of his tongue chasing a bit of mustard off his bottom lip. "Why?"

Ron blushed and shrugged. "No reason. He never says much when I'm here. Makes me wonder if he waits 'til I leave to tear into you, you know? Just don't want him giving you any guff."

Harry had learned long ago to overlook Ron's fascination with Draco, thinking it a symptom of his deep dislike for the Slytherin. But his baffling shyness and lack of insults when around Draco lately made Harry wonder. Not to mention that _every time_ they were alone, Ron asked Harry if he and Malfoy were 'getting on all right', as if looking for an excuse to drag Draco into the conversation.

When Harry asked Hermione her thoughts on Ron's behavior, her cryptic response of "Let Ron figure it out for himself" had left him perplexed. But now Harry thought he was beginning to understand. Taking a moment, he noted that Ron's thick, shaggy red hair was different, combed off his forehead, parted on the side. And instead of one of his endless supply of ratty Cannon's T-shirts, he had on a sky-blue shirt with sleeves, crisply ironed. Sort of.

Ron frowned and looked down at himself as Harry's eyes travelled over his body. "What?"

Harry raised his eyes and shook his head, fighting the smile that wanted to curl his lips. "Nothin'. It's just, you know, no worries, 'bout Malfoy."

And it was true. Draco still got on Harry's nerves, Harry still got on Draco's nerves. And name calling by both boys continued to be, if not a daily occurrence, an every-other day occurrence. Except now it was done more out of habit than to wound. Dumbledore had been right. Their shared concern for Snape had bound them inextricably.

Draco would never admit it, but he welcomed Harry spending so much time in the dungeons. He had loathed waking in the middle of the night to find himself alone, Snape having slipped out at some point. And Harry had not relished sleepless nights in the Tower, not knowing if Snape had made it back safe until the next morning.

Funnily, Harry wasn't the only Gryffindor to connect with a Slytherin.

Neville and Theo Nott had become chummy after the attack in Hogsmeade. A shared passion for Herbology meant the two paired up in class where, with Sprout's blessing, they cultivated all manner of horticultural oddity. In April they crossbred a bouncing bulb with a fanged geranium. When it escaped its heavy glass enclosure and took a chunk out of a student's behind, Harry wondered why they (or Sprout, for that matter) had never considered one of the monstrous critters getting loose. Millicent Bulstrode—victim of the Arse-Chomping-Plant attack—had been understandably livid about the boys' 'detention' in Greenhouse 5, but her howls of Gryffindor favoritism had met with puzzled amusement and some colorful jeers.

Leery of visiting each other's common room, Neville and Theo often met up in the Room of Requirement. With Harry spending more and more time in the dungeons, Neville had the idea of coaxing him and Draco up to the Room the nights Snape was away. He schemed to fill those horrid waits with something more productive, more fun. It proved a brilliant idea, really.

Between classes, training, and worrying about the end of the wizarding world, tensions soared. Crooked looks and verbal spats escalated into fist fights which sparked a spike in detentions. Courtesy of Flitwick, Vincent Crabbe secured a standing appointment with Charlie and the school's herd of Thestrals every weekend. The lumpish goon had pounded a fourth-year's head into a wall after the boy accidentally tread on the heel of Crabbe's shoe in a crowded corridor.

Younger forms often feigned illness to skive off classes, but there was little doubt that some were faking it. Fifth-years and up had better coping skills, but they were just as stressed, especially with the added duty of training the little ones. Eager for escape, sixth-years claimed the Room of Requirement, devoting the space to play, bandy about insults, study or just sit quietly. But just as importantly, it was a place to discuss what had been overheard in corridors, outside the staff room, or anywhere two or more teachers convened.

Dumbledore and the teachers might be wise to their spying, but the group knew there was one thing their teachers weren't wise to: Hannah Abbott could read lips. Previously unknown to anyone outside her House, the girl's skill had proved insanely useful, particularly at meal times when the teachers were less inclined to guard what they said. Two weeks ago she discovered that Millicent's older brother, Major, had been wounded and captured by Aurors during a raid at the Bulstrode's home—explaining the explosive uptick in the Slytherin's already intolerable attitude.

When Dumbledore upped the training to daily sessions, the group ramped up their subterfuge in response. To Hermione's burning annoyance some of them insisted on using Extendable Ears, Foe-Glasses, and Secrecy Sensors to amass intelligence. But the Extendable Ears proved too easily detected—as Ron, Neville, Ernie Macmillan, and Dean found out after being discovered by Filch outside the staff room one terrible evening. The Foe-Glasses and Secrecy Sensors proved just as useless, so the group relied on stealthier methods like Hannah's lip reading. And Dennis Creevey.

Dennis was a third-year, and tiny, but he had the brass bollocks of a giant. "Size is not a guarantee of power," Fred and George Weasley had said of the boy last year, and it was true. That he had snuck into Hogsmeade to join the DA last term, despite being a second-year, was sort of legend in the castle.

Dennis's nerves of steel came in handy, but his runty size proved a boon, too. He was just small and quiet enough to make himself nearly invisible as he trailed teachers about the castle, eavesdropping. So far, he had avoided detection, easily escaping back to the Room to report what he had overheard.

As the center of all that activity, the Room of Requirement quickly became 'The Spot' for the sixth-years (and Dennis) from all the Houses to meet. Millicent Bulstrode, Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle, Daphne Greengrass, and Tracey Davis were the unsurprising Slytherin exceptions—although Goyle and Tracey had secretly (and separately) approached Theo, trying to gauge what the group got up to, weighing if they wanted in.

As members of the DA, Ginny and Luna popped in for important meetings, but Luna rarely lingered. She had broken up with Ron the day after Harry and Draco rowed in the corridor outside the Great Hall.

"What happened?" Harry had asked Ron.

"It's nothin' I want to talk about just now, mate," Ron had said, ears reddening. "You got enough on your mind, yeah?"

Which at the time, Harry had, having just made things worse with Snape after fighting with Draco, so he hadn't pushed the issue. But he had wondered at Ron's odd mix of relief and torment at the breakup; by contrast, Luna's mood had been more pensive than sad.

One Saturday afternoon the group met in the Room to escape the gloom of the thunderstorm raging outside. Someone requested the ceiling to reflect a sunny day, then they all got busy doing their own thing. Dean drew; Seamus, Hannah, Susan Bones, and Ron played Exploding Snap; Neville and Pansy sat entangled on a love seat in a spell-darkened corner; Theo seized a seat at the small table where Hermione sat, her nose buried in a book; Harry lounged on the floor perusing back issues of _Quidditch Illustrated_ while simultaneously keeping a sly eye on Theo. Not that he was worried or anything.

"You know he fancies Hermione." Neville had told Harry back in early March. The boy also admitted that he and Theo had begun talking because of the brawny, sloe-eyed Slytherin's interest in Hermione.

Since distancing himself from his powerful family's politics, scads of girls had fallen prey to Theo's roguish good looks and cocksure attitude—traits he regularly used to his advantage. He knew that his laugh—a deep, smoky, rumbly sound—made girls' knees wobble; he knew that when he clad his broad, tasty frame in Muggle T-shirts and jeans, girls became more pliable than putty; and he knew hearts nearly stopped when he flashed his devilish, pouty-lipped grin, highlighting the lone dimple in his right cheek.

But he ditched his rakish routine when around Hermione, instead relying on a campaign of sensitive little gestures to woo her, including popping up in the library to assist when she had a small tower of books to tote up to Gryffindor; nodding appreciatively at her dense responses in Ancient Runes (and resisting the urge to highlight fairly insignificant flaws in her argument, rare though they were); and he had been supremely attentive when she had skewered Harry with the silent treatment following their row about Snape.

But Hermione knew what Theo was doing, even if Harry didn't—and Theo knew that she knew, but he still relished the game.

Draco momentarily blocked Harry's view of them when he lowered himself onto a large white pouf near Harry's head. Watching him, Harry wondered (not for the first time) if the boy had trained in ballet. When Harry had asked him about it, the Slytherin had shot him a scathing look, then spat out a profane denial of doing anything remotely dance-related, asserting that he didn't even _sway_ when music was playing. Harry didn't believe him.

"Um… When did this happen?" Ron said as a smirking Pansy and a flushed and grinning Neville emerged from their dark corner.

"Where you been?" Seamus said flicking Drooble's wrappers at Dean's feet. "They been snoggin' like rabbits since right after Valentine's Day, mate."

"Yeah? Why is it nobody tells me these things?" Ron yawned and stretched his legs out, accidentally tagging Terry Boot's foot.

"It's a wonder anybody tells you anything at all," Ginny said, curled up beside Dean. "Remember Harry's Firebolt your third-year?" She bit into her chicken sandwich and winked at her brother.

"Oh, piss off! Malfoy deserved to have it rubbed in his face that Harry had the fastest broom there was. Speaking of which…" he said, looking about, "where is the little blond menace?"

"With Harry." Neville nudged his chin in Harry and Draco's direction.

"My, you do make a habit of asking after our Draco." Pansy's sapphire blue eyes gleamed mischievously over the rim of her compact as she checked her reflection.

Ron reddened. "I don't!"

"Yeah you do, mate," Seamus said, nodding sadly.

"Oh, yeah?" Ron glared at the Irish boy as if hoping to make him break out into painful pus-filled boils. "How're things with Padma, eh? Still won't give you the time of day?"

Seamus grinned. "I've moved on, mate. Megan Jones s'posed to be stoppin' by. Should be 'ere any minute, actually." He leaned in as if sharing some juicy secret. "Wee lass fancies it when I use _interllectual_ words," he whispered loudly.

Dean stopped sweeping his stick of charcoal against his drawing pad to squint at his friend's earnest face. "Call me crazy," he said, "but she might fancy you more, or actually fancy you, if you bothered to say words _in-tel-lec-tu-al-ly. _And for the record, it ain't snogging that rabbits are famous for."

Seamus scowled. "Look here, wan –" He began, but then Luna and Megan passed through the entrance. The boy leapt to his feet and bounded across the room to greet the curvy, auburn-haired girl. Crooking his arm, he gallantly looped her hand over it. "Come and sit _betwixt_ us, me lovely Megan."

Ron nearly choked on a guffaw while Neville shook with silent laughter. Dean opened his mouth, then seeming to think better of it, closed it and slumped back against Ginny. Flipping a sheet in his pad, he started to sketch Luna who was smiling brightly up at Ron. The boy had risen to say 'Hello' and offer her his seat. After exchanging a few quiet words with her, he wandered over to sit with Theo and Hermione, positioning himself so that he had a side view of Harry and Draco.

"I have a meeting with Dumbledore day after tomorrow," Draco told Harry.

"Yeah? 'Bout what?"

"Mother's estate. I asked him to put me in to contact with Pius Thicknesse, a solicitor at the Ministry."

"S'brilliant, but you know the professor –"

"I know, Potter. But this isn't about money." Draco slid a hand into one of his robes' pockets. Harry suspected he was fiddling with a photo, one he had caught the boy gazing at one night.

Fresh from showering, Harry had entered their room, but he had been barefoot, so his steps had been silent. Draco was in bed, a black and white photo floating above his stomach as he stared at it. The scene was innocent—a bright, unguarded moment with Lucius, smiling and handsome, as he tickled his giggling three-year old son who sat perched on his lap, right front tooth missing. Harry must have made a noise because Draco jumped, snatched the photo out of the air and jammed it under his pillow.

"You get your kicks sneaking about, Potter?" He cast Harry an icy glare then wrenched himself onto his side showing Harry his back. "You might warn a person you've entered the room!"

Harry had kept quiet, wondering when things had soured for the Malfoys. Now that Draco had brought up Narcissa, it seemed as good a time as any to ask.

"Why'd you go against your father?"

Draco shot him a disbelieving look. "You sound as brainless as Finnigan..."

Harry hitched his shoulders, embarrassed. His father had died protecting him; Snape would do the same. Lucius Malfoy seemed to be a clinically cruel man, but he was still Draco's father, and the boy had all but disowned him. A step that drastic wasn't made on a whim, so Harry waited, curious what Draco might say.

After several drawn out minutes, Draco spoke, voice as emotionless as a corpse's: "I couldn't move. I couldn't help her because I couldn't move. When I tried to go to her, my father cast a spell to stop me… I had to watch as the Dark Lord t-tortured my mother." Harry gasped, but Draco droned on as if he hadn't heard. "They eventually had to drag me out of the room I was kicking up such a riot. When Father came to collect me later, he was pale, wretched looking. Mother wasn't with him. He didn't say why; I didn't dare ask. But I knew. I also knew that what happened to her would happen to me—especially if I displeased him, so I went home with him.

"But around the middle of July it got so I couldn't bear to be around him, or be in that house. During the day it was like being shut up in a mausoleum, with us rambling about, avoiding one another. And at night… Mother's screams echoed like some ghastly alarm. Sometimes it seemed as if she was right next to me. I knew then that I was slowly going mad.

"Then the Dark Lord moved in, making the manor his base of operations. That's when I began to plot an escape. It was laughable, of course, as I was surrounded by Death Eaters who had strict orders to ensure that I _didn't_ escape, but I was so utterly alone; I had to occupy my mind somehow. When I saw you lot on Diagon Alley in August –" Draco cracked a small smile at Harry's gobsmacked expression. "Oh, I didn't know it was you. I only found the morning Snape and I walked round Hogsmeade, but it didn't matter who you were.

"Watching you that day, the way he touched you… I suddenly realized how unutterably twisted things were between my father and me. The Malfoy name, the privilege, it all felt suddenly useless and unsatisfying in a way I could never have understood before. But it wasn't just that; I didn't want to take the Mark; Mother had never wanted me to, either. That's why the Dark Lord killed her."

"Oh, Draco…"

"Everything went to hell the night you came out of that maze. Looking back, I don't think either of my parents really ever believed the Dark Lord would return. But when he did… I'd never seen my father so out of sorts. He was frantic. He'd always toed the party line, properly playing up Pure-blood superiority, but he'd never done anything to back it up, not really. He's said and done any number of cruel things, treated people in the worst way, of course, but once the Dark Lord was back, I think he realized he hadn't done enough.

"And Mother, she must have contacted her sister that very night. It was so incredibly strange, because for years I'd never heard a kind word about her, then suddenly Mother's telling me how she hopes I'll be able to go to Andromeda if things go pear shaped—which they did after the battle at the Ministry. When I arrived home from the train station, she told me of the escape plan she and her sister had cooked up, but she hadn't included herself in it. I threatened to not to go if she didn't come, too. She tried to convince me that she had an alternate plan for herself, but she was lying. I know she was lying.

"Every day, I begged and begged her to reconsider, then before I knew it, it was time; I had to go. I wasn't ready, of course; barely a week had passed since I arrived home. I _couldn't_ leave her. In the end, it didn't matter because that same night, Nymphadora, my aunt's daughter, was killed—trying to rescue you, from what I understand."

"Yeah," Harry said, quietly marveling at the inescapable parallel of their lives—at how they had unknowingly been on a converging path since that night.

Draco pulled out the photo. "I know it's completely bizarre, but I keep this because days like it were so bloody rare." He stunned Harry when he held it out to him. "Mother took it with some old antique of her family's. Father hated her doing it, taking photos. He constantly told her it was vulgar, practically Muggle-like, but she loved it. She hung photos all over her apartments in the manor. You should see –" Draco stopped speaking and dragged a shaky hand through his hair.

"Think you'll ever go back there?" Harry asked, still looking at the radiant, flawless child laughing up at him.

Draco laughed coldly. "Why would I? Lucius has likely banished every reminder of her, and me for that matter." He looked down at his giggling three-year old self. "Mother told me that should anything happen to her, to contact Dumbledore. She counted on the fact that as Headmaster, he wouldn't turn away a student, so after that day on Diagon Alley, that's what I did—I wrote Dumbledore."

Harry gawped. "How? I thought with all the Death Eaters…"

"A horrid old house-elf called Kreacher posted the letter for me."

"Kreacher," Harry said, voice tight. Draco hitched an eyebrow. "He's the Black's house-elf, er, was. Last year he eavesdropped on Order meetings, then reported to someone in Voldemort's camp. He's the reason Sirius went to the Ministry…"

"Sirius Black… Granger says he was your godfather."

"Yeah."

"His own house-elf betrayed him?"

"He hated Sirius, thought he was a disgrace to the family."

"Ah, I suppose that explains why it always followed Bellatrix around, fairly slobbering on her robes and being an all-round nuisance. But it helped me, it kept that letter secret."

"Because you're a Black, too." Harry handed the photo back.

"Which hardly ranks much better than being a Malfoy," Draco said, face twisted with a sour look.

Harry shrugged. "Sirius's parents tossed him out of the house at sixteen 'cause he pissed on their Pure-blood beliefs; his brother, Regulus was a Death Eater, and Voldemort had him killed when he tried to get out; Andromeda married a Muggle, and your mum, from what you say, she saved your life. Blacks aren't all bad. Neither are Malfoys."

"Oy! Malfoy!"

Draco grunted in surprise, but caught the missile Ron had launched at him: Dean's football. Its hexagonal panels were emblazoned with the tiny dark red and gold crests of the West Ham football club. He often pulled the ball from his trunk on dull or rainy days.

"Scared you, eh?" Ron grinned as he loped over to sprawl on his side next to Harry's legs.

Draco glared at the redhead before firing the ball back at him. "Grow up, Weasley! You know I don't scare easily."

Lusty cackles of laughter echoed around the room following that pronouncement.

"Er… First year, detention in the Forbidden Forest?" Neville said. "Ring any bells?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "It was dark…"

"Second year, the duel…" Dean said.

"…was meant to get Potter in trouble, which it did…" Draco grinned a little at the memory.

"…third year, Buckbeak…" Seamus added. This garnered a sneer.

"Bloody overgrown chicken…"

"…_and_ the Shrieking Shack…" Ron offered.

"Bloody Invisibility Cloak…"

"…and fourth year…" Harry joined in, figuring Draco needed a teasing laugh, but the Slytherin blinked at him, flummoxed.

"What happened fourth year that scared me?"

"Sitting in the top box with me and the Weasleys at the Quidditch World Cup?"

"Ugh! All that horrid red Weasley hair!"

"Mind who you're calling horrid, Malfoy!" Ron growled, making Harry laugh. When Ginny called to him, Ron got up to go to her.

"He confronted me, you know?" Draco said, eyes following Ron's lean form.

"'Bout what?"

"Our row outside the Great Hall. Said I shouldn't have come to you about the professor, considering the state you'd been in in March."

"You mean when I nearly lost my mind?"

"I was aiming for tact, Potter, but, yes." Draco paused. "He's a good friend to you, isn't he?"

"Mm." Harry looked across the room. Ron, Ginny, and Megan were watching Dean and Seamus kick around the football.

"What's so bloody fantastic about him?"

Harry eyeballed Draco, hunting for a hint of snideness, but the boy's expression was inscrutable—overly so, in Harry's opinion.

"Well… he's brilliant in ways I'm not, in ways Hermione's not." At Draco's dubious expression, Harry said, "Play a game of wizard chess with him, if you don't believe me. And as you have often taken great pains to remind him, his family's never had much, but he'd still give you the shirt off his back if you needed it. And, there's the fact that we've been through a lot, and he's stuck by me. I can't think of many who would have."

"So, he's perfect," Draco drawled wryly.

Harry laughed. "You know he's not, but when he and I met on the train, I was completely out of sorts. He helped me. Still does, and like I said, he's done it with hardly a word of complaint."

"I seem to recall him thundering about the castle, foaming at the mouth because your name came out of that goblet fourth year."

"Yeah, but we got through it," Harry said, with a dismissive wave of his hand. "We always do."

Eager to emulate Dean and Seamus, Ron joined them. Dean, trying for something easy to teach Ron, shifted the ball from his toe to the inside of his foot then to his knee arcing it high enough to connect with his head so he could flick it to Seamus. Then Ron tried it. His attempt was less than masterful, but he looked fairly thrilled to have gotten the ball from toe to knee. He did it again and shot a proud grin at Harry. Harry lifted his chin in acknowledgment and laughed.

"I offered to be your friend first year." Draco muttered sulkily, studying the exchange between the two Gryffindors.

Harry snorted, amused. "Yeah, 'cause you thought I was a Dark Wizard for having done away with Voldemort!" Draco winced. "But until Hagrid came to fetch me, I had no idea all the strange things I did as a kid was magic; I never even knew magic was real. I thought it was make-believe, stuff you read in children's books. And I definitely had no idea why I was the 'Famous Harry Potter', 'Chosen One' and all that rubbish. That I didn't really get until the end of last term when Dumbledore laid that prophecy on me."

"You believe it?"

Harry shrugged, a quick angry shift of his shoulders. "Voldemort believes it, and as long as he's alive he'll be after me and everyone I care about."

"The professor? That barkeep? Your Gryffindors?"

"Yeah."

Draco exhaled, irritated. "You worked things out with the professor last summer. You fall out and make up with Weasley at the drop of a Knut... I've done my damnedest to be civil to you since Snape brought me to Hogsmeade, yet you couldn't be arsed to care, could you? You know, whatever you might think of me, I deserve a bit of the same grace as you've shown them!"

Harry gaped, shocked that Draco would, albeit in a typically arrogant Malfoy-fashion, confess to wanting Harry to be his friend. He sat up to look at Draco straight on.

"Malfoy, Ron, Hermione, and me, we've been through hell together, so if I'm willing to make up with them no matter what, that's to be expected." Draco's jaw stiffened; he looked ready to bolt. "But the same goes for you. As intolerable and _impossible_as you are, if anyone dared threaten you in any way, don't think that if I weren't already at your side I wouldn't find a way to get there quick."

Draco eyes bored into Harry's, trying to root out the lie, but all he saw was unwavering, _cloying_ Gryffindor earnestness—plus, he knew Harry couldn't lie his way out of a paper bag.

"Why?" Draco asked.

Harry smiled sheepishly. "You threatened to hex Ron if he touched me. Back to the Middle Ages, I think it was."

"…I forgot about that." Draco mumbled.

"I didn't," Harry said. Draco slowly relaxed, but since he had opened the door, Harry decided to delve as deep as the Slytherin would allow. "Why… why did you tell me all that – about your mum and everything?"

Draco set his jaw, began fussing with the pleats in his trousers. "Things are about change and I didn't want you thinking that I only switched sides to save my own arse. I didn't want you thinking I deserved whatever might happen to me."

"You idiot!" Harry swatted Draco's knee. "I know why you switched sides, and I would never wish for anything bad to happen to you!"

"I've earned the right to fight at your side."

"That's nothing you had to earn! No one does!"

"You're damn powerful."

"I'm still, Harry!"

Draco took in Harry's perturbed expression, then laughed softly. _Ah! _Harry thought_. There it is!_ A genuine Draco Malfoy laugh, minus the stinging sarcasm and anger. Harry smiled.

"Merlin, you haven't a trickle of ego, have you?" Draco said.

"'Course I do." Harry frowned. "It's just, if I let all that go to my head, well… I'd be you."

When Harry grinned, Draco smirked—a decidedly evil smirk.

"Oh my!" Hermione gasped.

Harry looked over when she laughed. "What?"

"What did you say or do to Draco?" she said.

"Cor, Harry!" Seamus blew out an admiring whistle.

"Wicked!" Ron crowed.

Harry frowned. Everyone was looking at him and laughing now, except Draco, who only looked disturbingly smug. Hermione pulled at a lock of her hair, then pointed to Harry. The boy dragged a bit of his fringe down so he could see it. It was as white as Dumbledore's!

"Malfoy! You toerag! Change it back!"

A handpicked group of sixth, seventh and fifth-years had been required to improve their wandless skills. After Harry, none was as accomplished as Draco, but the headmaster still demanded that they practice, practice, practice. And Draco did. If in the wee hours while waiting for Snape Harry happened to nod off, Draco took full advantage. He'd had a marvelous time transfiguring Harry's pajamas into witches' dress robes, elaborate 18th century Muggle dresses, or whatever outrageous outfit that caught his fancy.

Draco laughed at Harry's red-faced outrage, then changed the boy's hair back to reflect midnight. However, that didn't stop Harry pulling down strands to inspect them, again and again.

"He misses you," Draco said after a while. "He misses knowing that you're home to stay."

Silence stretched between them, the Potions master on both their minds.

"...You think he's all right?" Harry asked in a quiet voice; Snape had rushed from the castle just after dinner.

Draco met his eyes. "He'd better be."

*WO

**Snape's Quarters, Hogwarts, May 1997 (16)**

"Harry…"

Harry batted at the darkness, trying to make whoever was calling to him shut up. He and Draco hadn't been too long asleep.

Training that evening had been a cock up. Fifteen students had been injured while performing evasive exercises that most second-years could pull off with their eyes closed. Frustrated and shaken at the number of injuries, McGonagall had screamed a halt to the session half an hour into it, then demanded everyone return to their Houses. Ignoring her order, the sixth-years trekked up to the Room of Requirement where they spent hours picking apart the session, trying to determine whether someone had interfered with the charmed statues and suits of armor they were sparring against. Close to 2:00 a.m., they split, returning to their Houses.

Harry and Draco arrived home to find Snape gone. They sat up, trying to wait him out, but around 4:15 a.m., they stumbled to their beds, exhausted.

"Harry! Wake up!"

Harry growled, then wrenched an eye open to see a bushy-haired shadow hovering above him. He struggled up onto his elbows.

"Hermione? What – What are you doing here?"

"Harry, don't… Try not to panic… It's Snape. He's in the hospital wing."

"What?" Harry shot straight up. The torch lights flared to life, bringing Hermione's tired, worried face into stark relief. Ron, standing in the doorway, had pillow marks deeply impressed on his right cheek. Already clad in his black silk dressing gown, Draco stood next to his own bed, white-faced and shivering, his hair a feathery mess.

"Let's go," he said.

*WO

"Bill?" The tall redhead turned at the rough squeaky surprise in Ron's voice.

Students lay in five of the six beds occupied on the shadowy ward, their curtains drawn; Snape's curtains hung open, bedside torches alight. He was sitting up, hands in his lap as he conversed quietly with Kingsley, Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Bill, who looked as if he had tumbled down a rocky mountainside to land in a bog. Patches of dirt and what might be blood marred his robes, and as he made his way to Ron, his gait was stiff, nothing like his normally laid-back shuffle. But he still had it in him to give his brother a bright, reassuring smile.

Harry's eyes were on Snape, desperate to make out what had happened to the man. Visibly, nothing appeared to be wrong, but there had to be, or else he would be in his own bed and Harry's stomach wouldn't feel as if he had just swallowed an ocean of fire.

"Ah, Harry. Draco," Dumbledore said, a cheerful smile lighting his face as the boys neared Snape's bed.

"Easy, Potter," Draco murmured. Harry was finding it difficult to breathe around the plum-sized lump in his throat; his useless gasping only served to make him feel light-headed.

"Are you all right?" Draco asked Snape, voice pinched with worry despite his encouragement to Harry.

"I'm fine," Snape said.

Dumbledore made a motion with his hand. McGonagall, Kingsley, and Bill (after again assuring Ron that he was 'Fine') followed him out of the ward.

"What happened?" Harry said as Draco moved to sit on the bed at Snape's feet; Harry kept his distance.

"I made an ill-timed appearance and got involved in a bit of a skirmish."

A chill emptiness stole over Harry and the blinding anxiety he had nursed as he and the others ran up from the dungeons began to shift. Snape talked as if he had just wandered down a corner pub for a Firewhisky! Obviously, something more serious than 'a bit of a skirmish' had landed the man an overnight stay under Madam Pomfrey's care! As usual, Harry's emotions played out on his face; Snape read him easily enough.

"Harry," the man said quietly, "I'm all right."

Harry's voice wavered when he spoke: "Good. Well… I'm tired. I'm – I'm going back to bed."

Draco narrowed his eyes; Harry ignored him.

"I understand," Snape said. "Go. Rest."

The man wasn't angry, nor was he sniffing about for sympathy—that was hardly his style. No, he just knew that Harry seeing him in that setting—no matter that the wounds weren't visible—was too much.

Given leave to go, Harry had every intention of fleeing, but his feet seemed glued to the floor. Seconds fell into minutes, as he stood there, eyes on Snape's loosely folded hands resting on top of the bed sheet. Harry longed to feel them in his hair, long fingertips raking across his scalp in a soothing pattern.

Instead, a soft huff of exasperation was the only warning he got as Ron placed a hand on his back and began to nudge him toward Snape's bed. The man's eyes, bright and black, never left Harry's face as Ron edged him forward. When Harry's legs hit the bed, he stood there, still staring at Snape's hands. Ron exhaled another annoyed sigh, then pressed down on Harry's shoulders, directing the boy's body until Harry was seated on the bed.

With Harry settled, Snape shifted back to relax against his pillows. His eyes fell shut at once. Harry watched as the man lay there unmoving, the dark light of his eyes extinguished. Soon, Harry's chest began to burn, as if with infection. When he began to feel woozy and unbalanced, he clutched a handful of Snape's thin blanket, in need of an anchor. But then his head began to sink, heavy, as if someone had looped a marble slab around his neck. Finally, unable to bear it up any longer, Harry folded forward until his head came to rest on Snape's stomach.

The man's eyes fluttered open. He let out a quiet exhale, then reached to run his fingers through Harry's hair, tiredly dragging his fingertips back and forth across the boy's scalp.

Harry's shoulders hitched as he cried silently.

*WO


	25. Chapter 25

Disclaimer: JK Rowling's characters.

**Snape's Quarters, Hogwarts, May 1997 (18) **

Snape always cut an impressive figure (and made firsties scatter) when stalking about the castle, dark-eyed expression fixed, signature robes rippling behind him, a menacing river of ink. As he made his way through the corridors after leaving the hospital wing, heads still turned—but not for the usual reasons.

Bookended by Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter, both trailing him a bit, but keeping time with his steps, the man had an uncommonly self-satisfied air about him. To his left, Draco glided along, the picture of imperiousness with his pointy chin in the air, right eyebrow slightly cocked, black robes and whitish hair immaculate; to the man's right, Harry, unable to contain the cheeky upturn of his lips, bound along, steps as light as if he was walking on air, the words "Snape's all right," repeating in his head. That didn't keep the boy from camping out in the dungeons the rest of that week, driving the man a bit mad, however. It was the rare occasion that Draco didn't walk in to find Harry staring at Snape napping on the sofa.

"How long?" Draco said one evening, wanting to know how long Snape had been asleep _and_ how long Harry had been sitting there staring, 'like a ghoul'.

Harry risked a cursory glance at his watch, then recommenced his stake out of Snape's sleeping form. "Fifteen minutes, maybe."

"Well why don't you take a break? I'm here now."

"It's only been fifteen minutes, Malfoy."

"Right. If you've only been here fifteen minutes, I'm Muggleborn." Draco muttered as he eased into the chair opposite Harry after flinging his robes over the back of it and toeing off his shoes. "Go. Take a walk or something. Visit Granger."

"No." Harry crossed his arms over his chest and slumped down in his chair.

Draco sighed and laid his head back against his own chair, settling in, too.

*WO

Snape resumed his normal teaching schedule (against Pomfrey's orders), and continued to take part in the nightly training sessions (against Dumbledore's and McGonagall's orders). After nibbling at his dinner he would take to the sofa or his bed, shattered. Concerned, Harry approached the school nurse about the man's constant exhaustion.

"You don't have to tell me what happened to him," Harry said, intercepting what he knew was going to be a pissy refusal of details about Snape's injuries, "but why is he still so tired all the time? It's been days!"

Over the past month the hospital ward had seen a steady stream of students injured during the training sessions. The influx kept Pomfrey hopping—even with the assistance of her newly appointed apprentices, Blaise, Neville, Terry Boot, and Hannah Abbott. But because Harry was so plainly worried about Snape, she did her best to curb the exasperation in her voice.

"Mr. Potter, you know better than anyone what Professor Snape went through last summer. To look at him, one would never believe the state he had been in, but his health will always be compromised because of that experience. He will never be quick to recover from any sort of attack to his system from here on out."

Unsurprisingly, her words drove Harry to keep an even closer eye on the man. If Snape sat listening to the Wireless in the evenings, Harry sat close by, either at Snape's feet, or beside him on the sofa. If Snape coughed, Harry was in the kitchen and back in a flash, a glass of flavored water (cranberry, Snape's favorite) in his hand. If Snape retreated to his room for a bit of privacy, Harry rapped his knuckles on the door every thirty minutes.

"Sir? Everything all right?"

"Yes, Harry," was Snape's inevitable response. When it became tinged with irritation (which Harry either didn't recognize or ignored), Draco approached Hermione.

"Granger, you've got to do something about Potter. He's driving _me_ and the professor mental!"

Spending time with Harry had been a challenge since he and Snape had patched things up. And since Snape's stint in the hospital wing, the only time Hermione saw Harry was in class and at meals. She missed him.

After such a long, harsh winter, everyone was grateful when the weather took a friendly turn. Studying outside, picnicking, and impromptu matches of Quidditch fast became the norm. Even Order members shadowing the grounds' perimeter during their patrols didn't stunt the students' desire to be outside, thus Hermione judged it the perfect excuse for a bit of private time with Harry—as well as the chance to bring up how much he was smothering Snape.

"I really don't want to leave him," Harry said after leading her into his and Draco's room.

"I know, but he'll be perfectly fine, Harry. Draco's here should he need anything." She took his face in her hands and ghosted a thumb over his bottom lip. "I've been missing this over the past few weeks... Haven't you missed me?"

Harry groaned and pulled her to him. "You know I have." He whispered into her neck, making her cling more tightly to him.

"Then come outside with me for a bit." Hermione nipped at his neck; Harry growled.

"You'd better not be on my bed!" Draco's voice drifted down the hall.

They weren't on Draco's bed, but the fact that he was suggesting that they were doing more than talking was enough to ruin the moment. Hermione tempered her grin and loosened her grip so that she could lean back to see the scowl she knew would be on Harry's face.

"Damn dungeons!" He griped. "You could probably hear a tick piss if you listened hard enough!" He yanked a gray jumper off his bed and slipped it on before taking Hermione's hand. "Let's go."

Draco was lounging on one of the chairs next to the fireplace. Snape lay on the sofa with his eyes closed, hands resting on his stomach, long stockinged feet hidden beneath a light throw.

"Hermione and I are going out for a bit." Harry announced. Snape's eyes opened—Harry could have sworn he saw a spark of relief there.

"You need a break from being cooped up in here every evening," the man said quietly. "Go on."

"But –"

"Potter, he'll be fine." Draco flapped his hand, motioning Harry to leave.

"We won't be long…" Harry said.

But Snape had already closed his eyes. Harry exhaled a shaky breath and followed when Hermione tugged on his hand. Once outside, they headed for the old oak along the shore of the Black Lake.

"Think he's glad to be rid of me?" Harry said, trying for a joking tone.

"Maybe a little..." Hermione smiled sadly, but there was a knowing twinkle in her eye.

"Nice." Harry snorted softly. "I just worry…"

"Of course. It's only natural. …So, when are you moving back in?"

Harry grinned at her sly expression. "You and Malfoy been talking?"

"No." Hermione grinned back at him. "But, everybody's wondering."

"I know. I just… I'm scared."

"But Harry, Snape's not leaving the castle anymore. Nothing's going to happen to him."

"As long as Voldemort's alive, anything can happen to him, to any of us."

Hermione mentally kicked herself as she watched Harry step away to spread out the blanket she had brought along. His lips had thinned into an almost indiscernible line and his hands were shaking.

"Harry, I wasn't trying to minim –"

Harry reached to grip her hands in his. "I know." He shot her a quick smile. "I thought we came out here to relax."

"Right," Hermione said, squeezing his hands lightly, "you're absolutely right." She waited for Harry to settle on the blanket, then took his hand when he extended it to help her down beside him.

"So, let's get to the relaxing bit…" He said with a lewd waggle of his brows. Hermione laughed as he eased her back so that he could cover her body with his. For several minutes, they exchanged slow, wet kisses and let hands wander freely.

"Potter!"

They jumped apart as if electrocuted, then sat up, twisting around to find Draco approaching. He grinned slyly at their flushed faces, intertwined hands, and disheveled clothes.

"Malfoy!" Harry growled, annoyed. "What in hell are you playing at? And why aren't you with the professor?"

"Oh…" Draco sniffed, then looked down to investigate his cuticles. "Well, he suggested that I… get some air, too."

Hermione burst into laughter. "He probably cracked open a celebratory bottle of Ogden's and cranked up the Wireless as soon as the door clicked shut!"

"Quiet, you!" Harry said at the same time as Draco said, "Mind yourself, Granger!" making Hermione laugh even harder.

Draco crouched down beside them; Harry looked at him sideways.

"Er, don't you have somewhere else to be?"

"Not at the moment, no. I do want to ask something of you, however."

"If it means you'll be pissing off soon, ask away." Harry muttered.

"Harry!" Hermione snorted and nudged him in the ribs.

"Well, what do want, then?" he said to Draco.

"For you to call off your attack dog. I nearly hexed him in the corridor."

Harry frowned. "When did Fang attack you?"

"Not that great mutt—Weasley!" Draco said. "He keeps trailing me about. It's obnoxious and… worrying."

Harry barked with laughter because Draco was not nearly as put out as he pretended to be. Ron did shadow Draco rather a lot, but only as much as Draco deliberately ventured into Ron's space.

"Well, what do you expect me to do about it?" Harry said.

Draco shrugged then grinned mischievously. "Nothing. I can handle Weasley. I just wanted to interrupt the snogging session."

Harry's lip curled in aggravation. "You git!"

Hermione erupted into bright giggles, but they were cut oddly short when she grunted as if punched, then fell forward knocking Harry flat. She lay atop him unmoving.

"Hermione?" Harry fumbled to gather her face in his hands. Her brown eyes were open and sightless. Horrified and confused, Harry struggled from underneath her. Getting to his knees, he rolled her onto her side, then began to run his hands up and down her body, checking for blood or irregular lumps signaling broken bones.

Draco was on his feet facing the lake, gray eyes squinting at the forest's dark interior; Harry followed his gaze. The sun, which had seemed so reluctant to set earlier, was now fading as rapidly as ink in a rainstorm. Then, to his horror the swelling darkness highlighted several small white shapes floating unnaturally along the forest's edge.

Death Eaters – at least ten that Harry could discern.

Draco shouted, "_Stupefy!_" firing the spell into the canopy across the lake's vast expanse. There was no hope of it making contact, but he did it again, the odd salvo letting those in the forest know that he and Harry wouldn't be sitting ducks. They would fight.

"Is she breathing?" Draco yelled.

Harry wrenched Hermione's jacket open. He swallowed a watery ball of relief when her white jumper moved up and down in a regular rhythm.

"Yeah…"

"Then let's go! …Oh, bloody fucking _hell!_" Draco quickly cast a defensive shield against the sudden flurry of incoming curses and spells, then he spun to aim his wand toward the castle, shouting: "_Siolfor et ghel!_"

Silver and gold intertwined to create a comet of sparks overhead—a distress signal, specific to Draco and Harry. Back in February, after the attack in Hogsmeade, Snape had demanded they learn it.

Harry grasped Hermione under her left armpit; Draco turned back to grab her under her right one. "Hurry!" He cried, but just as they started to move, he collapsed, felled by a curse that had ripped through his shield. Hermione and Harry sank with him, dragged down by his momentum.

"Draco!" Harry screamed. Groaning, the blond clutched his leg. Harry gasped when the boy's hand came away bloody. Harry whipped about to face the forest. After pinpointing where the white shapes were he thrust his right fist outward in a haphazard punch. "_Stupefy!_" He yelled, hoping his spell hit some of them. Luckily, screams erupted and the airborne flashes of light that had been directed toward the three teens flew upward to become harmless fireworks lightening the darkening sky.

Harry rounded on Draco. "You're bleeding!"

"I'll be all right!" Draco snarled, trying, and failing to stand.

Denying the boy the opportunity to protest, Harry reached over and laid a hand on his leg. Draco hiccoughed in surprise at the odd tingle of warmth and dissipation of pain, which faded to nothing in seconds. When Harry pulled his hand away, Draco looked down to inspect the wound. His flesh was unmarred. He looked over at Harry, wide-eyed, but Harry was busy, struggling to pick Hermione up in his arms. Draco punched him on the shoulder.

"Don't be stupid! Let me help!"

They each grabbed one of her arms. After slinging them over their shoulders, they began to stumble across the lawns as quickly as they could. Relief flooded Harry as they drew closer to the castle, but when flashes of light erupted just steps away from them, he and Draco shrieked. They fell back several terrified steps as bodies began to materialize around them out of the oppressive dark.

"HARRY! DRACO! GET DOWN!"

Like a shot, the boys dropped to the ground, Hermione a boneless heap between them. They lay there as what sounded like an army of feet pounded past them in a fury, familiar voices barking out orders. Then, someone was kneeling next to them.

"Are you all right?"

Snape.

Draco, breathing harshly, nodded; Harry choked out, "Hermione! She got hit with something…"

Snape's eyes came to rest on the unconscious girl just as Professor McGonagall arrived.

"Severus?"

"Minerva, the Granger girl has been hurt."

"Merlin!"

"Harry, let her go so that we can bring her to the hospital wing." When Harry hesitated, Snape's tone turned sharp: "Harry we must get you all inside, now let her go!"

When Harry was still slow to move, McGonagall jostled him aside as she conjured a stretcher. On his knees, Harry watched her movements closely. Once Hermione was secured, the deputy headmistress began racing back to the castle, Hermione floating out beside her.

"Follow her and do not think to disobey me!" Snape said as Harry and Draco got to their feet.

"You're coming with us… right?" Harry asked, though he knew the answer.

"No. I must help the others." Having mentally shifted focus to the fight ahead, Snape's voice had lost some of its earlier edge of anxiety.

Harry's stomach twisted in on itself as he looked out toward the forest at the multi-colored pulses of light flashing furiously back and forth. He didn't know who among the teachers had joined the fight, but he knew he didn't want Snape to be one of them. One brush with death a week was quite enough, thank you.

"Why do you have to go?" He demanded, green eyes flashing.

"Potter, come on." Draco tugged at Harry's sleeve; he knew from Snape's expression that nothing would stop him joining the other teachers.

"No!" Harry wrenched his arm away. "You go ahead if you're so anxious to leave, because I'm willing to bet your father is one of the murdering psychos down there!"

Draco paled so quickly, his skin looked translucent.

"HARRY!" Snape roared. He marched up to the boy, getting right in his face. "Both of you… Up to the castle! Now, Harry!"

Harry scowled, feeling distinctly defiant and unhappy. He then rooted his feet to watch Snape running toward the fight. When Snape stopped to see how far the boys had progressed, Harry, at Draco's light touch, reluctantly turned and started toward the castle. Snape watched until they reached the steps, then he turned and melted into the darkness.

*WO

Entering the castle, Draco and Harry were met by a hysterical crush of students.

"Are there really Death Eaters on the grounds?"

"Someone said a girl was killed!"

Harry itched to smack whoever had said that.

"What in bloody hell's going on?"

Harry perked up at the sound of Ron's baritone. Searching the crowd, he nearly collapsed once he laid eyes on the redhead. "Ron!"

Spotting Harry, Ron bulldozed his way through the throng. "What's happened? Where's Hermione?"

Harry grabbed his arm and swiftly directed him away from the crowd and up the stairs.

"Harry, what –" Ron began.

"Hermione and I were sitting by the lake talking to Malfoy, and next thing I know she's on top of me, knocked out by a spell or curse –"

"Blimey! She all right, then?"

"Dunno yet... McGonagall brought her up here," Harry said, just as they arrived outside the hospital wing's entrance.

"And, Malfoy?" Ron growled. "What the hell was _he_doing out there?"

"You're the sour little twit, aren't you?" Draco said coldly, startling the Gryffindors. Harry had forgotten about him in the relief of seeing Ron.

"Malfoy," he said, jamming his hands into his pockets. "I… What I said out there. It was stupid."

"What else is new, Potter? If I had a Galleon for every time something moronic came out of your mouth, the inheritance from my mother would look paltry by comparison."

Harry knew he deserved the barb, but couldn't help rolling his eyes.

"Anyway, he's not my father," Draco said. "And, you're likely right. Lucius was never one for wand-to-wand combat, preferring to strike from a distance. More strategic, than cowardly, he would say…"

Harry ran a hand through his hair. "I'm just worried…"

"Yes, but he'll be all right. He will."

Every time Draco uttered those words, trying to comfort Harry, the Gryffindor could never escape the fact that Draco always sounded as if he was trying just as hard to convince himself.

"Hermione and I were lucky you were there," Harry said. "We couldn't have made it back without you."

Draco shot him an odd look. "You'd have managed." He looked down at his damaged trousers, then back up at Harry. "You could have told me."

Harry shook his head. "I didn't trust you."

"Clearly," Draco said, expression flattening, as if he was switching off.

Damnable Gryffindor honesty. Wanting to ease the sting of his words, Harry said: "I've only ever done it twice before, once by accident, so it's not something I do all the time. It's… weird."

Draco frowned. "It is _not_ weird." When Harry opened his mouth to respond, Draco pitched his chin toward the hospital wing. "Go. Check on Granger." He turned to leave.

"We should probably wait here for him." Harry called. Draco stopped and turned back around.

"Are you mad?" Ron growled. "Let him bog off! I'm sure _Zabini's_ having kittens right about now."

Draco's hands curled into fists as he shot Ron a poisonous glare. "I'm so tired of this… Stop taking your issues out on me, Weasley!"

Ron paled, looking as if he had just licked a toad's belly. "Issues? _Issues!_ What in bloody hell are you talkin' about?" He edged forward, but Harry moved to block him.

"Can't you two do this later?" he said.

"No!" Ron surged forward, again, blue eyes blazing.

"Damn it, Ron!" Harry yelled. "Leave off!"

Gritting his teeth, Ron stopped moving. Glaring at Draco, he said, "What in hell was either of you doing out there anyway? You know the school is under surveillance! You know we could be attacked any time!"

"Ah… Worried about me, Weasley?" Draco crossed his arms over his chest, but Harry saw the Slytherin's right hand resting just beneath his left arm, positioned to draw his wand if necessary.

"You go to hell!" Ron roared, then lunged at Draco who had to force himself not to wince or give ground by falling back a step.

"Ron!" Harry threw himself at his friend, clutching him about the waist. He bent his knees and planted his feet as if to throw Ron to the floor for a match of Muggle wrestling, but Ron was bigger than Harry and strong, so as the redhead pushed forward, Harry only succeeded in sliding back, his trainers providing all the gripping traction of a pair of Muggle skates.

Madam Pomfrey stuck her head out of the ward's door and hissed: "Be quiet this instant!"

Ron and Harry spun around to see her face bloated with anger, but then her eyes widened in horror. Harry let go of Ron and turned to see Charlie and Snape running up the corridor, Professor Sprout floating between them.

"Stop waffling about! Move on!" said Pomfrey, shooing Ron, Draco, and Harry clear of the ward's entrance. "What happened?" she asked, as Charlie began directing Sprout through the doors. He paused to take in Harry's flushed face, and Ron's furious one.

"Mr. Weasley!" Madam Pomfrey snapped. Ron and Charlie turned to her. "Professor Sprout?" she said, her sharp eyes pinning Charlie where he stood.

"Oh—right," Charlie said, flustered. "Yeah, um, I saw her go down. She was hit on her left side when she…" His voice trailed off as Madam Pomfrey ushered him through the doors which swept closed behind him. Before they did, he cast a curious glance back at his brother.

The instant Snape came to a stop, Harry went to him. With a firm grip on the boy's shoulders, Snape held him at arm's length, looking him up and down, hunting for a hint of injury.

"You little fools!" He growled and pulled Harry to him. Harry fell against the man, clinging to him in a fierce embrace. After a time, Snape leaned back, dark eyes shimmering. He looked down into Harry's face, jaw working, unable to find his voice.

"I'm all right," Harry said. He put a hand over Snape's heart to reassure the man as well as himself that it was true. Then he whispered, "I'm so sorry… 'bout everything –"

"Hush." Snape clutched Harry to him once again, resting his cheek against the boy's hair. After a moment he relaxed his grip. He turned his head, searching. "Draco?"

"I'm fine," Draco said, relief palpable as he walked to join them. "What happened after we left?"

Before answering, Snape gave Draco the same once over Harry had received. His eyes widened when they landed on the gash in Draco's trousers.

"Potter," the boy muttered. Snape nodded curtly and continued his examination. When he seemed satisfied, he ran a hand over Draco's head, making the boy blush and glare. Draco never minded having the back of his head caressed gently, but unlike Harry, he hated having his hair mussed like a puppy.

"We can discuss what happened later," Snape said. "Has Madam Pomfrey looked you two over?"

"No, but I want to see Hermione first," said Harry, certain Snape would not be truly satisfied that he and Draco were all right for a while yet as the man had drawn Draco to him with his other arm. Draco had stopped glaring, Harry noted.

"Come." Snape released them and started for the hospital wing entrance. He breezed past Ron to hold the door open. After Draco and Harry passed through, he kept it open, eyeing Ron expectantly; Ron's blue eyes widened in disbelief.

"As I don't normally count doorman as a part of my teaching duties, you have until the count of three, Mr. Weasley."

Ron blinked and cleared his throat before striding past Snape. "Thanks," he muttered, reddening under the man's gaze. Snape nodded stiffly in response and followed. He paused at the foot of Hermione's bed.

"How are you feeling, Miss Granger?"

Hermione smiled tiredly. "Fantastic, thanks to my two heroes here."

Snape offered up another small nod, then joined Charlie and Madam Pomfrey at Professor Sprout's bedside. Harry grasped Hermione's hand in his. Ron, on the opposite side, did the same while Draco stood at her feet.

"Is everyone all right?" she asked, grimacing as she shifted, in search of a more comfortable position.

"Sprout's the only casualty on our side, it seems," Harry said. "Dunno about Voldemort's people." His eyes wandered over to Snape.

"…And you and the professor?" Hermione said softly, following his gaze.

Snape was nodding at whatever Madam Pomfrey was saying, but his eyes were on Harry.

"We'll be fine," Harry said.

*WO

**Snape's Quarters, Hogwarts, June 1997 (01)**

Following what was supposed to have been a leisurely Gryffindor scrimmage to close out the Quidditch season (and celebrate winning the Quidditch Cup), Harry parted with the team, desperate for a hot shower and his own personal buffet. As soon as he opened the door, the mouth-watering smell of roast beef assaulted him, making his stomach grumble loudly. He limped down the hall and stuck his head into the kitchen to find Draco setting the table. Harry cocked an eyebrow, surprised and amused.

"Dobby busy, then?"

Draco looked up, face contorting with disgust at Harry's appearance. "He will be once you've mucked up the bathroom!"

"Yeah, well, s'what happens when you fall off your broom tryin' to dodge a Bludger…" Harry inched toward the table, grime infested fingers trained on the basket of aromatic bread rolls. In a flash, Draco snatched the basket out of reach.

"Touch anything before you wash, and die, Potter!"

"Harry?" Snape rounded the corner to see Harry grinning like a mischievous puppy and Draco scowling like an old maid, arms spread out to protect the table's bounty. "Draco?"

"Potter tried to touch the food!"

"I just wanted a roll to tide me over before I shower!" Harry protested, laughing.

"Draco's right," Snape said, wrinkling his large nose at the filthy dark haired boy. "Go get cleaned up."

Harry laughed, again. "Slytherins."

"You're limping..." Snape called as Harry made his way to the bathroom.

"Fell off my broom!" Harry called back. Then after giving a quick check of the hallway before closing the bathroom door, he crooked his finger in a come-here fashion.

"POTTER!" Draco roared as a roll wriggled free from the basket and zipped out of the kitchen.

Following a shower so hasty Draco swore it could not have possibly involved water touching skin, Harry re-entered the kitchen, Fang padding in beside him. Harry directed a finger at the boarhound's dishes, filling them, then took his seat as Snape began piling food onto the boys' plates.

"Thanks," Harry said, taking his plate from the man. Snape nodded, then proceeded to fill Draco's.

"Thank you," said Draco.

When Snape had filled his own plate, they began to eat.

*WO

That evening the Wireless droned quietly in the background as Snape sat hunched at his desk, quill dashing across a sheet of parchment. Draco lay sprawled atop the sofa, his Ancient Runes book open and hovering inches above his chest, pages turning intermittently at his prompting. Harry occupied the floor, his back against the sofa, half his Transfiguration book on his lap, the other half propped up on Fang who lay next to him. Yawning, the boy finally closed the book after reading the same sentence seven times. He startled when Draco knocked a heel against his shoulder.

"Reach me that quill, please," the Slytherin said. Harry scooped up the quill lying on the coffee table and tossed it to Draco. "Thank you."

"I'm goin' to bed." Harry announced, with a bone-popping stretch.

"'Night," Draco mumbled, lazily turning a page in his book and making a note on his parchment.

When Harry got up, Fang rose to go plunk down next to Snape's feet. Snape watched the boy as he passed. Harry was still favoring his left leg.

"Once you're settled, I'll apply some liniment to your knee," he said.

"M'kay…" Harry yawned again.

*WO

Hours later, Harry felt a weight too light to be Fang and too heavy to be Draco settle on his bed. He cracked his eyelids open. Buttery light from the hall sconces spilled in through the doorway highlighting Snape's dark glittering eyes perfectly. The same reflecting light lit up Harry's concerned green ones as he opened them fully, startling the man. Harry pointed at the wall and the torch light next to his bed brightened, lighting up Snape's form.

"S' wrong?" He croaked.

"Nothing," Snape said softly. He reached to smooth Harry's hair back. A low chuckle rumbled in his chest when the stubborn strands refused to lie flat.

Harry cleared his throat and shifted to put on his glasses. "You sure?"

Snape cocked his head. "Why do you ask?"

"You seem… scared."

"Oh?" Snape brought his hand down to rest on Harry's chest.

The boy shrugged. "Doesn't help that it's after three in the morning and you're sitting on my bed, and… well, watching me sleep."

Snape snorted softly, then nodded. "Of course. It's just, the thought of you leaving –"

"Leaving?" Harry frowned.

"Yes." Snape whispered.

Harry covered Snape's hand with his hands. "You'd have to chuck me out. And even then, I'd come back."

"Oh?"

"I'd have to. In a couple years, once you've started drooling and using a walking stick, you'll need someone to look after you."

Snape's eyes narrowed. "Charming image, that."

Harry grinned and tucked his arms behind his head, but the grin faded a bit as he watched Snape pull his covers up from the bunched up mess at his hips to cover his chest. The dark rings around the man's eyes stood out sharply against his sallow complexion.

"You've not been to sleep at all, have you?" Harry said.

"I've rather a lot on my mind. Term is winding down, which means I have N.E.W.T.s to oversee week after next, and some O.W.L.s as no one from the Wizarding Examinations Authority will be able to attend them."

"But it's more than that. I saw you, Dedalus Diggle, and McGonagall earlier. He's always jittery, but he seemed even more so than normal."

"We were discussing the school drills and whether they needed adjusting for these last weeks." Snape's hand was in Harry's hair, again, trying to coax the boy back to sleep. But Harry was having none of it. He locked gazes with Snape.

"That's really all it was?"

"Yes."

"It's just… I know you think the lakeside attack was Voldemort's way of testing us."

"It was. I know how he works—though he did have a bit of unsuspecting help that night."

"Yeah… Mundungus hasn't been around since then, but he's always been rather dodgy, hasn't he? Off minding things he shouldn't be?"

"Short answer? Yes. At any rate, he's been relegated to the Glass Hoof so that Oswin and Aberforth can keep an eye on him. Dumbledore won't allow him back on the grounds or in the castle."

"Dumbledore, he seems more worried, too. He's never –"

"Hush. Enough talk. You need to sleep."

"As do _I_!" Draco's irritated tenor floated over. "Merlin!"

Harry laughed when Snape hitched a brow in Draco's direction. "Well, you're awake now," Harry said. "May as well join the discourse."

"'Discourse?'" Draco snorted, then turned over to face the two dark haired wizards. "Has Granger been reading to you from the dictionary, again?"

"Mm." Harry nodded. "She even let me look at some of the pictures. Funnily enough, your image can be found next to 'arsehole', 'wanker', and 'tosser'. That's got to be some kind of record. I don't even think the devil is mentioned that much."

"Potter, if your idea of insults wasn't so abjectly amateurish, I might be offended, but as it stands, I can only feel a low level of pity."

"Can you feel this?" Harry began wiggling his fingers as if he was typing. Draco had only a second to look mortified before he began to shriek and thrash about helplessly on his bed, tormented by what felt like ten thousand invisible fingers.

"Potter! S-stop! STOP IT!" Draco gasped, then let out an undignified hoot of laughter when his right armpit was attacked.

"Take it baaack," Harry sang, letting up, but not stopping.

"Take w-what back?"

"You insulted my insults."

"Why you knobby-kneed, nest-haired –" Draco lost his breath when Harry focused on his sides.

"Knobby-kneed, eh?" Harry moved his fingers faster. "You know my knees are off limits."

"POTTER!" Draco curled into a ball, clutching his stomach. "You cr-cretin!"

Snape gently enclosed Harry's hands in his, stopping the flow of magic. Miffed, Harry looked up at the man.

"You know you're going to pay for that, don't you?" Draco glared at Harry while wiping his streaming eyes.

"You know you're going to pay for that?" Harry mocked Draco's posh accent. "_You_ just better be glad Dad was here." He muttered, still scowling his displeasure that Snape had stopped his fun. But, Snape froze, wearing that same petrified expression he'd had after the water bottle throwing incident.

Realizing what he'd let slip, Harry's eyes widened as they met Snape's. "You don't mind if I call you that... do you?"

"I – I've no right to expect that you'd want to." Snape replied, lips barely moving.

Harry's lips slowly curled into a teasing grin. "So, in other words… you don't mind?"

Snape growled. "Why you wretched little ingrate…"

Fang, who had been lying in the middle of the room, got up to flop down next to Draco's bed. He looked up at the boy, barked, then made a whining noise as he bobbed his head up and down, demanding it be scratched. Flabbergasted, Harry watched Draco extend a pale hand over the side of his bed to do the dog's bidding. Just last week the boy would have kicked at Fang and cursed him a 'filthy beast', but as ever, things had changed.

Two and a half weeks ago, during the Slytherin/Ravenclaw Quidditch match, some Slytherin spectators—Vincent Crabbe and Milicent Bulstrode in particular—took to heckling Draco, screaming laughably uninspired insults: 'Draco Potter! What a tosser! Draco Snape! What an ape!'

"Classy," Harry had muttered, but when Draco performed a flawless Sloth Grip Roll to narrowly avoid being smashed by a Bludger, Harry had made a perfect spectacle of himself—jumping, pumping his fists, and screaming like a lunatic; he wasn't alone, though. Hermione, Pansy, Blaise, Theo, Neville, Aberforth, and a stocky fifth-year Slytherin named Hank McCoy threw in as well. Harry had pointedly glanced over his shoulder to see Crabbe looking murderous.

After the match (Slytherin 420, Ravenclaw 110) Harry, Snape, Draco and Fang, joined by the rest of Draco's supporters, left the pitch for the castle. Draco, exaggerating in glowing detail his move to capture the Snitch, went flying into Ron's arms when Crabbe banged into him.

"Outta my way, filthy slag!" the boy snarled as he charged past.

Fang, lumbering specimen that he normally is, reacted so fast, no one was clear on what had happened until they saw Crabbe face down on the ground, the boarhound crouched on his back with little room to spare between his dagger-sharp teeth and Crabbe's reddened, fatty neck.

"Get it off me!" Crabbe screeched, flailing about in an ironic imitation of a speared crab.

Snape snagged the dog's collar, then voiced a low command. In an instant Fang moved to stand in front of Draco, his great velvety head held low, poised for action should Crabbe try anything else. Stunned (and still in Ron's arms), Draco watched Snape help Crabbe up. The blubbering boy stumbled away, vowing a painful revenge, but thereafter, Fang had taken to following Draco to classes the boy did not share with Harry. Scowling and pleading aggravation Draco had ordered Snape to call the dog off, but the man had denied coaching Fang to follow him around. Days passed, and Draco began to suffer the dog's presence more and more.

Now Harry looked between the Slytherin and the boarhound feeling as though he had been forcefully spirited into another dimension. The tranquil justness of the scene amazed him, left him speechless.

Draco caught him staring and frowned. "Potter?"

Harry blinked in surprise. "What?"

"You all right? For a moment there your gaze appeared emptier than normal—if that's possible."

"Shut it, you pencil necked – Oh, just shut it! I was just remembering why you're being nice to Fang all of a sudden."

Draco shrugged. "It's not _that_ sudden. I just decided it's not exactly… horrible to have him around." The dog barked his agreement.

"And his attacking Crabbe after the match had absolutely nothing to do with it, eh?" Harry teased.

"Not really," Draco said quietly. "Actually… Ever since the night we were attacked at the lake…" Draco stopped then began again. "When I saw your face," he said, eyes on Snape now, "and how frantic you were, I had a completely selfish thought – Not a bloody word, Potter! – I thought, he'll never look at me like that, the way he looks at Harry. But, then you did."

"Of course, I was equally concerned for you both." Snape frowned and waved a hand dismissively.

"Yes," Draco said, sounding inexplicably perturbed, "but I thought it was only because you were my Head of House. Same goes for the mutt here. I thought he was only friendly when Potter was around, but when you moved out, he would try to get me to rub his belly or scratch his back… As hateful as I've been to him, he would have absolutely mauled Crabbe that day." He looked up at Harry. "I've never said, but I saw you making an utter fool of yourself in the stands for me."

"Cheering for you, I was _cheering_ for you, big difference from making a fool of myself… I think."

"Anyway." Draco scowled at being interrupted. "Everything just seemed to come round on itself then, and… after what happened to Mother, I... I never thought I'd want to be part of a family again."

"Oh!" Harry gasped, as a click echoed in his head. The other two wizards looked at him, curious. He shook his head. "It's nothing." A pale and dark eyebrow, each, went up in disbelief. "I just… I just realized something, is all..."

Draco hitched both eyebrows, a wordless demand to speak.

"No matter what happens…" Harry said. "I'm glad to have had this."

After a moment, Draco lowered his eyes to look at the gently snoring boarhound beside him. "Me, too."

It was whispered as softly as the beat of a butterfly's wings, but everybody heard it.

*WO


	26. Chapter 26

**A/N**: It's been a long time coming, I know, but I appreciate your patience. There's more—quite a bit more. Despite wanting to post everything at once, I decided to post this bit, else I would have kept picking at it like a scab. Ew. ~Ruth7019

Disclaimer: JK Rowling's characters.

**Final Battle**

**Quidditch Pitch, Hogwarts, June 1997 (05)**_**…8:17 p.m.**_

"Would you mind not doing that? I'm trying to study."

"_Fuck_ you!"

Ah. End of term. Fifth and seventh-years were ripping out their hair by the fistfuls as O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s loomed; everyone else was sweating final exams. The worst of the procrastinators—Ron and Harry among them—crammed frantically in between Exploding Snap tournaments, rounds of wizard chess, or just lazing about.

In truth, all of the castle's inhabitants were desperate for a break. Winter had savaged February, March, and most of April, forcing a late spring. And then there was the unnaturalness of all the hours spent together in classes and in training. It made everyone irritable. The teachers were especially on edge as the more 'spirited' students, half-wild from being penned up in the castle until the first weeks of May, got up to their noses in troublemaking.

Over the past month, Filch had asked Dumbledore to cast a _Locator_spell on Mrs. Norris more times than he dared count. The headmaster always graciously Summoned the cat and made the obligatory requests for students to leave off harassing the patchy old narc, but Filch knew it was to no end, knew the sadistic little sneaks would obey the headmaster's directive as readily as they always did where he was concerned—which was to say, not at all. But he coped, trolling the corridors day and night, muttering about "Exacting some punishment, Umbridge-style."

While Filch, exams, and summer hols proved worrisome, none of them held a candle to Voldemort. Few were naïve enough to dismiss the inevitability of a showdown with the dark wizard, but hoping to avoid it remained a generally held outlook—though with a week left in term, nothing was taken for granted.

After the lakeside attack, many students chalked up frequent sightings of various Weasleys to familial overprotection; other, more practical-minded souls gathered and whispered, certain the attack was the calm before the storm, the Weasleys presence a quiet massing of Dumbledore's 'Real' Army.

Strangers were spotted round the castle, too. Neville swore on Gryffindor's sword that he saw Dumbledore chatting with a goblin, but no one believed him. That sighting had come after a long turn in Greenhouse 6 where Neville, Theo, Professor Sprout and Tracey Davis had spent the better part of a Saturday disguising the spiky dark red vines of Venomous Tentacula to resemble juniper shrubs. When they then set about organizing the deadly plants around the grounds and courtyards, no one questioned why. Many pitched in to help.

But not everyone proved so civic-minded. Vincent Crabbe, Millicent Bulstrode, and fellow Slytherin, Willie Jugson Jr.'s disruptive behavior meant they attended more detentions than training sessions. In April, Snape chucked them from the sessions altogether after catching them interfering with the Devil's Snare Sprout had prepared for the tunnels.

Dumbledore wasn't fazed by such behavior. He knew the students got into mischief. He also knew that Millicent and her crew's behavior had little to do with being mischievous, yet he left their punishment, along with the other mischief-makers', to their Heads of House. He chose to focus on ensuring that life in the castle carry on as normal as possible. Thus, framed by a brilliant red-gold sunset, players from all four Houses were engaged in a scratch Quidditch match on the pitch.

Students ignored House divisions to sit where they pleased, so Hufflepuff's stands were halfway full with Gryffindors and a smattering of Slytherins; Ravenclaw had a healthy mix of bodies, too. Hermione, Neville, Seamus, Pansy, Theo and Blaise sat clustered together near the middle of Hufflepuff watching Harry and Draco. As the teams' Seekers, they made perfect spectacles of themselves, more interested in performing lethal turns and dives than in keeping an eye out for the Snitch.

"Show'em how it's done, Draco!" Theo boomed through his cupped hands.

Draco dipped his Nimbus 2001 to whiz by the group, all teeth and swagger.

"Oh, Draco, do stop messing about!" Pansy griped. "We've been out here for hours already! …And there're _bugs_!" She squealed, swatting at a moth as it flitted past.

"Oy! Don't kill it!" Newt Krause of Ravenclaw crushed an anonymous foot—"_Ow!_"—in his mad scramble to catch the insect. "Sally, loves'em…"

"Sally?" Someone said.

"His salamander." Someone else answered, with an obvious eye roll.

"Neville, darling, let's go!"

"Pansy, it's barely been forty minutes," Neville muttered, sweeping his Omnioculars back and forth, taking in the action.

"And that's quite long enough! I'll never understand the appeal of tearing about like lunatics on a broomstick to chase a nut with wings!"

"Ball, love."

"Ball, barnacle, whatever… I'm _bored_!" Pansy pouted against Neville's neck, which made him shiver. He lowered his Omnioculars, turned to face her, and leaned down to nibble on her bottom lip. Then he pulled back, put his Omnioculars to his eyes and became engrossed in the match, again. Pansy stared at him as she touched a fingertip to her lip. She then slipped her arms around his waist, rested her chin on his shoulder, and sat quietly, a smile quirking her lips, her eyes following his every move. Hermione shook her head in wonder.

"Not me! I'm looking forward to Draco's party after the match!" Colin Creevey piped up, only to cringe, turtle-like against the wave of boos and shouts of 'Gormless wanker!'

"Bloody – _Creevey!_" Blaise growled as he cuffed Colin's messy head. "Are you really that daft or do you spend hours perfecting it?"

"Sorry…" Colin whinged, but Draco beamed.

"Chin up, Creevey," he drawled. "It's not as if I didn't already know."

"Draco!" Hermione slammed her copy of _Monster Book of Monsters_ closed as he smirked at her.

By nature Draco was curious, curiosity-killed-the-cat-curious, so when Harry, Blaise, Pansy, and Hermione began meeting in the evenings, he wanted to know why; once Ron got involved that curiosity ratcheted into overdrive. The group met in spare classrooms, and never the same one twice. Not that it mattered; Draco tracked their movements with the Marauder's Map, then used _Sen Privatus_ to listen in. It's how he learned that Harry had approached Dumbledore with the idea for the party. The headmaster had then offered up the Great Hall to hold it, heralding it a "Splendid way to buoy spirits!"

Theo laughed. "Well, now that the kneazle's out of the bag, hurry up and win this thing!" He raised a hand in defense when Hermione turned to glare at him. "What? You Gryffs really thought you could keep a secret from him? Especially something like a party? In _his_ honor?"

Hermione scowled and whipped back around when he lowered a long-lashed eyelid in a cocky wink. "Arse!"

"Malfoy!" Harry yelled. "Get back up here! You runnin' scared?"

"'Runnin' scared?' Potter, the only thing I find remotely frightening is the way you murder the English language! Oh, and that hair!" Draco hooked his broom about sharply. He would have smacked a third-year Hufflepuff in the face had the girl not had the reflexes of a cat.

"Draco!" Snape bellowed. "Watch what you're doing!"

The Potions master was sitting a few rows down from Hermione and the others, Fang draped over his feet. Aberforth, having journeyed from the Glass Hoof at Harry's request, sat beside him, Crookshanks perched on his lap, curled up like a seashell as the old wizard dragged gnarled fingers through ginger-colored fur.

"Oy! Is that the Snitch?!" Neville nearly put Pansy's eye out as he jabbed a finger toward the empty Gryffindor stands.

Harry spun around to look. The winged ball was there, fluttering above the topmost rows of Gryffindor. Not wasting time to check, but hoping Draco was still distracted doing something stupid, he shot off after it.

Twenty seconds from target...

Harry grinned picturing the scowl on Draco's face once he realized the match was over.

Ten seconds...

He leaned forward. The Snitch was just… _right_…

Then incredibly, Draco zipped down, knocked Harry off course, and flashed the Gryffindor a grin before speeding away. Harry growled and put on a burst of speed, pitching and weaving recklessly, aiming to retake his position, but he knew it was hopeless. Same as he knew Draco would be an insufferable gasbag over the next month. Or year. Even so, he couldn't hold back a wry smile as the boy reached for the Snitch.

But before Draco could get his fingers around it, three things happened in rapid order: Bill Weasley and Hestia Jones ran out onto the pitch firing powerful spells into the four corners of the stadium; sheathing his wand, a smirking Vincent Crabbe slunk unseen from behind Slytherin's stands and headed back toward the castle at a hurried, ugly shuffle; lastly, Draco yelped as he went soaring, upended off his Nimbus, its bristles ablaze.

Voices in the stands screamed in chorus: "Draco!"

He was a blur, spinning toward the ground at a speed that suggested gravity wasn't the only magic at work. Harry tipped his Firebolt, giving chase. As he went, a tornado of brooms erupted around him. Frightened of being shot out of the air, the players were racing to land. Ron fell into a death spiral as well, but instead of flying to ground with his teammates, he flew at Draco, except Harry was already there, grabbing for Draco's outstretched hands. He missed when a surge of red heat jolted his shoulder, nearly rocking him off his broom.

A raspy "_Protego!_" came from the stands.

"Cheers, Papa," Harry whispered.

Using that rush of protective magic, he regained his balance and made a quick motion with his hand, aborting Draco's fall. Draco's screams stopped and he flailed about midair. Then Harry was beside him. Without a word, Draco clambered onto the broom, fingers digging into Harry's sides. Ron came to a sharp stop beside them, eyes locking with Draco's.

"All right?" he said, voice hoarse and frantic.

Harry felt Draco nod behind him, but there was no time for that.

"Down, Ron!" Harry stabbed a finger at the ground. "Now!"

Below them, the normally unflappable Hooch wasn't so much urging students to evacuate the Ravenclaw stands as she was shrieking at them to "_RUN!"_ her arms flailing in a mad dance. In an infinitely more sedate fashion, Snape was making quick work of clearing students from Hufflepuff while keeping a sharp eye on Harry and Draco. Then in a sudden flash, he leveled his wand at them.

Something loud erupted behind them. They ducked. Harry risked a look back and nearly peed his pants. A sheet of water, as tall as Grawp, was holding back a cyclone of fire. Harry took a second to rejoice that Snape was on their side, then hunched over his Firebolt, driving it at a speed that under normal circumstances Snape would have strangled him for attempting. Seconds later they hit the ground running. At the stadium's exit, Harry scanned the tide of people for Hermione, Snape, or Aberforth.

"Harry, we should have kept flying 'til we reached the castle!" Ron said. "We're totally exposed running like this!"

Just as Ron stopped talking, Michael Corner crashed face first into the ground, blasted off his broom by a curse. He had been trying to make it to the castle instead of fleeing to the broom sheds like they had been trained to do. The sheds housed tunnels that were linked to the castle. Dumbledore had tasked Charlie with digging them out after Charlie agreed to fill in for Hagrid. It had taken September, October, November and twenty crews of Nifflers, enticed by Leprechaun gold, to get it done.

Someone ran to Michael: Seamus's girlfriend, Megan Jones. She fell to her knees beside him and gently took the dead boy's head into her hands. Within seconds blood began to seep through her fingers. Her screams rang out like the peals of church bells.

Bill ran into view. He looked at the sobbing girl and her red hands and with a speed that boggled Harry's mind, he conjured a stretcher, got Michael on it, then yelled at Megan and a dazed assemblage of Ravenclaws and Slytherins to, "Head to the sheds!" Checking for stragglers he spotted his brother. "Ron! Harry! You lot get to the sheds! _Now_!"

"Have you seen Snape?" Harry shouted.

"He can take care of himself! Now get going!" Bill growled before running off.

When Harry continued to look about, Ron called to him. "Harry! Let's go!"

Harry looked up at him. Of course. He wasn't the only one with family out here. He nodded and they started toward the sheds. What looked to be about twenty or so students were jamming into the shed nearest the Slytherin changing rooms; Parvati Patil was shouting instructions at them, her long, black plait whipping from shoulder to shoulder.

Then it got quiet, like all the sound in the world had been sucked up into a vacuum. Harry frowned.

_BOOM!_

The boys flew backward, landing what felt like a mile from where they had been. Shock made Ron and Harry bounce up into a sitting position. They grimaced and shook their heads, trying to rid themselves of the banshee-like ringing in their ears, then Harry realized he couldn't see.

"Glasses." He croaked, leaning over to paw at the ground. He snatched his hand back when he nudged something gristly and warm. "_Accio_ glasses!" They thumped him in the chest, mercifully unbroken. After settling them on his face, he wished to lie back down and stay down.

Long, deadly-looking splinters of wood and a charred arm lay next to his feet. He choked on a cough and a sob and scrambled as far away from them as he could. As the dust and smoke began to thin, Harry saw Draco lying on his side working his jaw, much like Muggle airplane passengers do when bothered by an abrupt change in altitude.

"Oh, Merlin! Oh, Merlin! Oh, Merlin!" Ron chanted tonelessly.

A long pair of legs ran into view. Well-worn dragon-hide boots peeked out from beneath faded blue jeans and a set of navy blue Cursebreaker robes. Bill's lips were moving, but the boys couldn't hear a thing. He dove down and grabbed Ron by the shoulders, pulling him up into what looked like a painful embrace. Ron let Bill hold him; it was the only way he was managing to stay on his feet anyway.

A moment later, Bill pulled back. Ron stood, unmoving, as his brother's hands flew up and down his body, checking for injury. Satisfied Ron was all right, Bill's lips began moving, again, but the more he talked, the more his features creased in frustration. Then his face went slack with horror. He shook Ron, testing something out, but Ron's confused expression never wavered. Finally, Bill put his lips to Ron's ear. After a time, Ron's head began to move in a slow up and down motion. He then linked his arms around Bill as his brother gripped him in another smothering embrace.

Hestia Jones and two barrel-chested, black-haired men ran up to them. Bill's grip on Ron slackened nominally as he listened. Ron, with his chin resting atop Bill's shoulder, kept frowning and hitching his shoulders up to rub at his ears, likely trying to stop the infernal ringing in his head. Digging his fingers into his own ears, Harry sympathized. In a burst of desperation, he wished the noise away; within seconds it was gone. He cocked his head.

"…round the other side," he heard one of the men say.

Draco staggered to his feet and Harry went to him. The boy had his hands over his ears, still trying to chew the deafness away. Harry pulled them down. Draco jerked back when Harry tried to cover his ears, then realizing his intention, closed his eyes and let Harry carry on. Seconds later he tapped Harry's hand, then they jogged over to Ron and Bill. Harry knocked Ron on the shoulder. When he turned, Ron's blue eyes were streaming. Harry knuckled some of the tears away and just as he'd done with Draco, he covered Ron's ears until Ron nodded.

"All right?" he asked. Ron shook his head, eyes roving over the carnage surrounding them.

Hestia spoke: "As none of you can Apparate, and the sheds are gone, you'll have to take your chances on the grounds." Her raspy voice reminded Harry of that American actress, Demi Moore. "It's going to be full dark before you know it."

"Bill?" Ron said. Bill stared at his brother, the one he still thought of as his baby.

When Ron was born, Molly had had her hands full with the twins, Percy, and Charlie. As the oldest Bill did what he could to help, but once Charlie started walking at age two, he decided he didn't need Bill so much; Percy came out of the womb with the Ministry of Magic's regulations tucked under one arm and a CV in the other, and Fred and George had each other. When Ron arrived, Bill had someone, again. When Ron was hungry, Bill fed him; when Ron began crawling, he crawled to Bill; when Ron skinned his knees, Bill tended them; when Fred and George turned Ron's teddy bear into a spider, Bill pulled them into their father's shed and threatened to cut their hair with a Muggle hand mixer. He even charmed it to run just enough to catch up the ends of their red locks in the beaters. And Ron had called him 'Mummy' until Percy set him straight. Bill still hadn't forgiven Percy for that.

"Bill… maybe you should go with'em," said one of the black-haired men. Bill swallowed and gently swiped his thumbs over Ron's cheeks.

"No. I'm in charge here."

"Right, but we understand if you –"

Bill said, "Ron, leg it up to the castle, fast as you can. Don't stop for anyone or anything, and don't think twice about blasting the bloody fuck out of someone you don't know!"

"Bill! John! Stu! Hestia! A little help here!" Another man had emerged out of nowhere.

"Run, Ronnie!" Bill yelled before dashing back toward the stadium. "Run!"

*WO

**Hogwarts Grounds**_**…8:58 p.m.**_

The boys ran, holding as straight a line for the castle as they could, but inexplicably, Draco began to lag, slowing until he stopped moving altogether. When the blood drained from his face, Harry worried the boy had been hit with a spell. He doubled back and grabbed Draco's arm.

"You hit?"

Draco's head wobbled; Harry didn't know if it was a 'yes' or 'no' wobble.

"Draco, we have to –"

"S'Lucius..."

"What?"

Harry and Ron jerked around. Lucius Malfoy, masked, but marked by the distinctive white-blond hair flapping handsomely about the edges of his hood, was sprinting away from the stadium. He was flanked by Death Eaters and a host of dark creatures Harry feared to guess at.

Looking at them, he had a second to wonder at Bill and Hestia's fate before Lucius shouted: "Harry Potter! Run boy! You three get out –" was all he managed before a flare of green light struck him in the back.

Draco shrieked and started running. Ron took off after him, grabbing him around the waist before he got too far.

"No! You can't!"

"Let me go! Let me go, you fool!" Draco twisted in Ron's arms and pounded at his hands in a fury. "I – I have to help him!" He gasped when Ron's grip tightened. "Weasley! Unhand me this instant!" When he landed a nasty kick to Ron's shin, the redhead groaned and his grip loosened momentarily. Draco nearly shimmied free, but Ron was quick and bloody strong.

"Stop it, Draco!" He roared. "STOP IT!" Ron nearly dropped him when Draco fell limp in his arms. Winded, he huffed into the nape of Draco's neck. "You can't help him now. It's done."

"B-but, he's just _lying_ there, w-what –"

"Ron's right," Harry said.

Lucius was down, but his mob was still coming. And they were closing the gap fast—so fast Harry was able to make out what some of the "dark creatures" were. Feral-looking men. Werewolves. Their eyes burned golden, even from this distance, and their lips rippled around canines that Harry swore lengthened with each step as the horde alternated between running upright, like men, and using their hands in tandem with their feet. Like dogs.

Good thing there wasn't a full moon tonight.

"Shit!" Ron cried. "It's a full moon tonight!"

"_What?!_" Harry gaped at him. "Are you sure?"

"Yes! Remember Charlie saying how the Blast-Ended Skrewts were a massive pain in the arse around the full moon?"

No, as a matter of fact, Harry did not, but if Ron did, well, they needed to get the hell out of there.

Suddenly the indigo-colored heavens eating up the skies in the east foreshadowed more than just the close of another day. And though Harry would rather lick a skunk's arse than give Voldemort credit for anything, he had to admit the bastard had a knack for timing: By waiting to attack on this night, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had guaranteed himself a crew of real-life bogey-men to murder at will.

Fantastic.

"Harry!" Ron yelled. "We need to go!"

"Yeah… Gimme me a sec," Harry muttered as he fisted his hands at his sides, then he raised his right foot high off the ground. Pulling Draco along with him, Ron took several big steps back just as Harry stomped his foot down.

"_STUPEFY!_"

The world shivered, violently—at least that's what it felt like as the reverberation radiated outward and outward and outward. The bad guys roared their surprise; many stopped running to stick their arms out in a useless, but comical balancing act as the earth juddered beneath them. When he heard the House stands clattering, Harry knew the spell had done its job, and then some.

He then directed his hand out in front of him and began to chant: "_Cave Inimicum! Protego totalum! Salvio hexia!_" Moving his arm in a great sweeping arc he cast a Shield Charm ranging from the destroyed broom sheds to just past the southern end of the stadium.

A small band of Voldemort's people were beyond the point where the shield began, but a great many were still on the other side. Unable to put the brakes on in time, they plowed into it full force, then were crushed by those stampeding along behind them. Bodies crumpled to the ground in a heap of bloodied noses and, Harry hoped, shattered bones.

He turned to Draco. Ron had released him, but remained close by; Draco's gaze was still fixed on Lucius.

"Let's go," Harry said. Again, Draco didn't move and Harry's hatred for Voldemort swelled like an infected gut shot. He knew what it was to see a parent murdered, and he didn't want to be an arse, but they _had_to move. He didn't know how long the shield would hold, and he wasn't keen on sticking around to find out.

He called to Draco again. No response. He pinched his lips and raised his hand. The crack of his palm connecting with Draco's cheek echoed.

"What the _fuck_ – Harry!" Ron rushed to stand between them.

Harry ignored him, moving until he could see Draco. "Draco, look at me. We need to get to the castle, report what happened here. Find Snape!"

At that, Draco blinked, as if emerging from a fog. He frowned.

"You hit me..."

Harry winced, eyeing the red outline of his hand on Draco's face. "Well – you were catatonic or something."

"I –" Draco's eyes found Lucius again; he began to tremble.

"Oh, damn it!" Ron growled. He lifted his hands toward Draco, then let them fall back to his sides. Inhaling deeply, he brought them up again, cupping Draco's face. "Draco, look at me." Draco did. "Your father is dead." Draco's eyes filled with water and he closed them. "No! Look at me!" Ron stroked his cheek and Draco's eyes fluttered open. "We can't stay here. We'll die if we do. All right?"

Draco nodded.

"Okay?" Harry asked.

"Yeah," Draco said.

Harry clenched his jaw against a curse. Chalk up one more for Voldemort. Draco's snooty upbringing only ever allowed that he respond with a nasally 'Yes', but there was nothing for it now, they had to go. He started running and was relieved when Draco followed, but as they closed in on the grounds proper, his stomach seesawed: Hermione was racing toward them.

"Hermione! NO!" He shouted. He waved his arms crazily, signaling for her to go back.

But she kept coming, her face the picture of terror as she raised her arm, pointing at something off to their right. The boys stopped, looking into the west.

The sun. Its fire was fading.

The dark was rising.

*WO


	27. Chapter 27

Disclaimer: JK Rowling's characters.

**Hogwart's Grounds_…9:22 p.m._**

When the boys reached Hermione, Harry slowed, seizing her about the waist, but she dragged her feet, transfixed by the blood-orange vision of the setting sun. Harry glanced over his shoulder at it. It was hypnotic, like watching the horizon swallow a ball of liquid fire. He might have pulled her to the ground to enjoy it had it not meant certain death.

"Hermione… Chicken, come on."

She looked at him, then back at the sun. "Yes… Yes, all right," she said, letting him pull her into a run.

They quickly caught up to Ron and Draco, putting earth and air between themselves and their pursuers, but the darkness proved relentless; no matter how fast they moved, night moved faster, kissing their heels, threatening to devour them. Heightening the hellish situation something big streaked past, so close it whipped the hem of Ron's Quidditch robes. Harry, Draco, and Hermione slammed into him when he cried out and ground to a halt.

"The hell was that?" He rasped.

Hermione bent double, grasping her stomach as she gulped in air; Harry made himself dizzy spinning about, trying to sort out where the danger lay. Looking out at the grounds' vast expanse, he momentarily despaired of ever reaching the castle, a dark notion that was validated when an encroaching shadow chuckled. Hermione whimpered and latched on to the nearest arm—Draco's. She screamed when something else landed steps away, boxing them in. Harry squinted at the shape as it edged in closer, then lowered his wand; he frowned in confused recognition.

"Fang?"

With his head and shoulders hunched low the dog growled, deep and continuous like a Muggle car motor. He looked the picture of a mad dog with his lips pulled back to reveal nothing but bubbling ropes of froth and pointy white teeth. Then as suddenly as he appeared, the dog ran off.

_Fang! You big coward!_ Harry fumed, then flushed hot with regret seconds later; Fang had back-tracked, had circled to attack the source of the laughter.

Fenrir Greyback staggered into view, Fang attached to his neck. The man snarled and growled as he twisted his body against the boarhound, desperate to dislodge the dog. Harry understood why as rivulets of blood streamed from the numerous puncture wounds in Greyback's neck.

Instead of watching, Harry knew they should be gone, tearing across the grounds toward the castle and safety—but the others stared too, as mesmerized by the savagery playing out before them as he was. An ordinary man would be on his knees, if not dead after such abuse, but here the realities of the Magical and Muggle worlds split: Greyback was no ordinary man, and if Fang didn't hurry up and bring him down, Greyback wouldn't be a man at all.

The moment that thought crossed Harry's mind, Fang seemed to manage a more devastating grip. Harry nearly cheered when Greyback stumbled and a gush of blood arced out into the waning twilight. Then Time (the old whore) ran out. The world spun on its axis plunging the sun's remnants below the horizon and Hogwarts' grounds into darkness.

Fang immediately dropped to the ground and backed away. Greyback smelled dangerous enough in human form, but with the change upon him he stank of death and corruption. As if to rid himself of the stink, Fang shook his head and moved back further, planting himself in front of Harry and the others.

"_Lumos!_" Ron shouted. Harry and Draco followed his lead as Hermione wondered aloud why she hadn't thought of it.

With a grunt, Greyback fell to his knees. The lights from their wands followed him. Seemingly delighted by the attention, the man turned his mad gaze on to them. His eyes bulged wildly and his lips twisted into a wide grin that never faltered, even as his jaw popped and knotted—even as his body was wrenched downward, buckling and swelling in impossible angles, his skin stretched tight and slick over misshapen bone.

If Harry had expected a screaming, scrabbling resistance to the change, he was disappointed. While Remus had loathed transforming, Greyback clearly reveled in it, as if he was shedding his mask and donning his true skin. The transformation was quick. Within a minute, wet, heated snuffling sounds filled the night. Then the werewolf rose.

"Bloody. Fucking. Hell," Ron said, his head falling back to follow its movements.

At its full height, the beast looked ten feet tall. But for its bloodthirsty expression it might have been beautiful. An exquisite silver-colored mane ran from the tip of its head down the middle of its wide back, like lush quills. Triangular, silver-tipped ears pointed forward—not a good sign, nor were its scythe-like claws, long, and bloodied from the change. Powerful arms hung low and heavy from shoulders that joined with a neck so thick it resembled a camel's hump; however, blood still pumped from the damage Fang had inflicted, proving the moon was no cure-all for injuries Greyback received as a man.

The werewolf stared at them, as if taking stock. Then it lobbed its head back and howled. Harry's skin burst into gooseflesh so fast it hurt. When other howls echoed across the grounds, he tried and failed to staunch a torrential sense of dread.

"We should run," he whispered.

"Are you insane?" Ron hissed. "We wouldn't get four steps!"

"Well, we can't hang around here until his mates show up!"

Ron stared at Harry, letting his words sink in. "Shit!"

The werewolf dropped to all fours, nostrils flaring and collapsing in rapid pulses as it scented them. Fear—more potent than a moment ago. Gloom wove a perfumed trail through the night air too, thick, like honeysuckle, sugary and divine. These smells aroused the werewolf, made its heart _thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump_in lustful anticipation.

Greyback despised wizards. He knew they thought him and his kind savage, slavering simpletons, no better than feral dogs, but he had a particular disdain for those in the Ministry. Wizard politicians, in their rabid self-interest and unflagging ignorance, safeguarded their livelihoods by inciting fear and hatred. Werewolves were no angels by any means, but wizarding laws drove wolf packs to society's fringe with bureaucratic mousetraps like the Werewolf Capture Unit, the Werewolf Registry, and the laughable Werewolf Code of Conduct. It rankled that wizards did all this with a fragile stick of wood and antiquated mumbo jumbo. Abracadabra, indeed.

But Greyback was a clever man and an even cleverer werewolf. For too long werewolves had been at the mercy of a population that, in Greyback's mind, bordered on extinction. Pure-blood lineage did not guarantee a magical child. Take Hogwarts' crooked-backed caretaker, Argus Filch, and that mad cat lady, Arabella Figg—Squibs, the pair of them, and if Voldemort conquered Dumbledore and his lot, Greyback predicted a grim outlook for Britain's magical community.

This explained why between Voldemort and the so-called Light, Greyback considered the dark wizard the lesser of the two evils. And while Harry Potter wasn't evil, the young wizard's scent gave the werewolf pause.

The boy was scared, yes, but Greyback detected a disturbing depth of power as well—a depth of power no child should possess. The Dark Lord and Dumbledore could have managed that _Stupefy_the boy cast earlier, and without the dramatic choreography, but the Dark Lord and Dumbledore possessed something Harry Potter did not: killer instinct.

To be fair, Dumbledore had never murdered anyone. Following the duel with Grindelwald, instead of killing the dark wizard, Dumbledore left his old friend to fester in Nurmengard, the prison Grindelwald ironically had constructed to hold his opponents. Revered Wizengamot member, tender-hearted grandfather-figure, and twinkle-eyed old fox—Dumbledore had known imprisonment would kill Grindelwald just as surely as the Killing Curse, only far more painfully and more slowly.

And Voldemort? Well, his tote board of the dead made Greyback look like an amateur in comparison.

Despite the unsettling stench of power the boy exuded, Harry Potter was different: He sweated innocence like a minutes-old calf, which meant he was no match for the werewolf. None of them were. It would have them gasping and gutted before their frightened little minds could think, "_Expelliarmus!_"

The foursome clutched each other when the werewolf rose again to stand. They watched, wide-eyed as it inhaled a dramatic breath and reared back. With arms bent and claws readied, it heaved its upper body forward towards them and roared. The teens grimaced and clapped their hands over their ears against the sound—then, before they knew it was on the move, the werewolf lunged at them.

Fang's smoky bark echoed as he charged at it, snapping and snarling. Caught off guard, Greyback stopped short, then veered to go around the dog. But Fang leapt again and again, blocking the werewolf's path to Harry and the others. Annoyed at the dog's game, the werewolf shook its head and stamped its paws. Smelling Greyback's frustration and wanting to keep the beast focused on him, Fang darted in to nip at the werewolf's flank. He got lucky. His teeth sank into a mound of thigh meat and he yanked as hard as he could. Greyback howled in pain, then retaliated. Long claws sliced deep, bloody furrows into Fang's shoulder. The boarhound screeched, a sound like fingernails dragging across a chalkboard. Then he crumpled to the ground.

"NO!" Harry screamed. "Fang! Get up!" The dog's back legs twitched, but that was all. Then he lay still, so still Harry thought him dead, but when he called to him again, Fang whined and raised his head. Greyback growled a warning and lowered his mouth toward Fang's neck.

"DON'T!" Harry brought his wand up. The werewolf looked at him and bared its teeth. In response, Fang tried to roll over to expose his belly and throat to the werewolf.

Greyback uttered a ghoulish gurgle at the dog's submissive behavior, then he began closing in on Fang again. Harry aimed his wand, but the beast was too close to Fang; Fang whined and pawed the ground. The werewolf's yellowish eyes shone with bloodlust as it hovered over the dog, a move that left it vulnerable to what happened next: a trap-like grip around its throat.

Before this night, Fang contented himself with naps in front of the fireplace and walks with Snape. He didn't consider begging for table scraps undignified, and he liked to run after sticks and balls when Harry was feeling playful. He also loved to chase squirrels and rabbits— for sport, never to kill. From Roman to Medieval times his boarhound ancestors were bred for bear-baiting, lion-baiting, bull fighting and dog fighting. Though Fang preferred the coward's way, when times called for a more forceful response, he obliged. And what was Greyback but another dog?

When Harry drew his wand, Fang hadn't wanted him to intervene, because the second the werewolf positioned itself over him, Fang's ancestral bloodlust ignited. Using what little strength he had, he propelled his head up, opened his mouth as wide as he could, then clamped his jaws around Greyback's throat.

Something crunched. Fang wanted to howl his triumph as the werewolf gave a gurgled yelp. When it tried to wrench loose, Fang held fast, determined to savor the final _thump_of its heart. He wanted to separate the beast from its larynx; he wanted to crouch over his prize as the werewolf died, and as blood flooded Fang's muzzle and face, and Greyback's howls began to turn bubbly and watery sounding, Fang didn't think he had long to wait.

"Harry! C'mon!" Ron yelled and pushed him, hard, shocking him out of his stupor. When Harry looked at him, Ron pointed.

Something new had joined the darkness.

They ran. Hermione threw her arm up to cast an odd pattern of red and green sparks into the air. When she stumbled, Draco grabbed her hand and tugged her along behind him; Harry took hold of her other one. Shouts, screams and roars, sounding at once close and distant, melded with the furious jackhammer of their feet against the ground and the rhythmic _huff huff huff_ of their breath as they ran.

Just as Harry thought his leg muscles were about to seize up, he spotted the rolling incline that led to Ravenclaw Tower and the West Tower. Thank Merlin! The fortifications forked the main courtyard which led to the castle's entrance, and safety, but then Harry stopped.

"Harry, what –" Ron began.

"Who's there?" Harry said.

"'Who's there?'" Mocking him.

"_Lumos!_" Draco aimed his wand into the darkness. The light landed on a tall, black-cloaked figure. "Dolohov?"

"Antonin Dolohov… at ya service."

Antonin? Harry brought up his wand, too. He never saw the man's face that night in the forest to know what he looked like, but Draco recognized him because Dolohov's Death Eater mask was pushed up on top of his head revealing a long, disfigured face. Harry winced. Someone's Bat-Bogey hexes had obviously found their mark. Later, he hoped to shake the hand of the wizard that had done it.

"Mmm…" Dolohov leered, squinting against the light of their wands. "Malfoy. Snotty liddle ponce. Been missin' ya 'round the manor. Couldn't ever getcha' off ya mama's teat, always trailin' behind her, hidin' under her skirts. Who's gone look out for ya now? Eh? 'Specially wit' her an' Lucius dead."

"Fuck you, you degenerate!"

"Och, is that what Dumbledore's passin' off as wizardin' education these days?"

"Shut up about Dumbledore," Harry said coldly.

Dolohov turned his rattish eyes onto the boy. "Well, well, well. Harry Potter…" Dolohov dipped his chin in a shallow nod. "S'an honor. I remember things bein' a bit, ah, hectic at the Ministry last year, no time fer the niceties. But ain't nothin' like the present for learnin' a lesson or two, pa'ticly when it comes to showin' a bit a respect fer ya elders." Dolohov snapped his wand up, sighting Harry's heart.

"Do it and I'll fix the rest of you to match your revolting face," Draco said.

Dolohov dragged his tongue along his lips, fat with bogeys. He smiled. "I always though' ya had a pretty liddle mouth on you, boy…" He winked and flicked his wand in a promise. "I'll deal wit'cha in a mo'."

Ron lodged himself in front of Draco. "_Breathe_ in his direction and I'll kill you."

They weren't touching, but Draco could feel Ron's lanky frame vibrating with intent.

Dolohov laughed nastily. "S'like _that_, is it? Well, now, I ain't have no quarrel wit' ya, Ginger. In fact, I wipe my arse wi' liddle maggots like ya ever' day. But if yer feelin' froggy, boy… leap!"

No one heard the man utter a curse or saw his wand move, but they weren't taking any chances.

"_Expulso!"_

_"Duro!"_

_"Diffindo!"_

Ron flicked his wand at the ground in front of Dolohov: "_Confringo!_" The sod exploded, gouging a deep well in the ground, blanketing the Death Eater with earth.

All those spells coming at him at once should have laid Dolohov low. Frightful appearance and crude speech aside, Harry recognized the man as a formidable wizard.

"Run!" He yelled.

"Yeah!" Dolohov cackled. "Run! S'more fun that way! _Avada Kedavra!_"

Harry never knew what possessed him, but he wheeled back and ran into the curse. As it hurtled toward him, he inhaled, sucking in what he thought was his last breath and as he breathed out, he didn't know how to process the sun-bright sensation flaying his insides as he heard voices:

_…You will be fine. Both of you will be fine._

_…can't promise I'll ever like Snape, Harry… but for you, I'll give being civil a go._

_Yes… In answer to your question… from before._

_…never thought I'd want to be part of a family again._

The time it took for that string of sounds to work through Harry's brain was time enough, he knew, for the curse to reach him.

But it never did.

A loud _crack_ sounded, like an explosion. He then threw his arms up against a light so white, it seemed infinite. As he turned his face, shielding it in the hollow of his right shoulder, he glimpsed Hermione, Ron, Draco—and Snape. He looked at Snape. The instant their eyes locked, the man barreled into his mind.

_Harry! God! Are you all right?_

Was he? Harry looked down at himself. He patted his chest, arms and stomach, incredulous because nothing effectively blocked the Killing Curse—_except love_. Snape and the others had their wands pointed at him: Hermione was crying; Draco's eyes were closed, his lips moving rhythmically; Ron was frowning, jabbing his wand back and forth shouting, nothing Harry could understand.

He grinned at Snape. '_M' fine!_

"Cock suckin' traitor!" Dolohov bellowed, his wand on Snape. "_Avada Ked –!_"

Before he could finish, a long diagonal gash split his chest open. He fell to his knees, then collapsed onto his butchered face with a loud, wet thud. Harry whipped around to look behind him: Dumbledore and Aberforth. The headmaster still had his wand up.

"_Lumos!_"he said. Harry gaped at him. Dumbledore didn't look angry, but he wasn't smiling either.

Hermione bolted over to Harry, face wet with tears. He squeezed her tightly when she wrapped her arms around him. Snape burned a path to Dolohov's body. He rolled the Death Eater with a flick of his wand, keeping his distance from the man's feet and hands. From where Harry stood, he could see Snape shaking—could see him contemplating killing Dolohov.

"Severus," Dumbledore called sharply.

Snape began to teeter back and forth, his jaw clenching. He closed his eyes. Harry started to go to him, but Aberforth hissed at him to stay put.

Eventually, Snape opened his eyes. After another hesitation, he crouched down and jerked his wand back and forth over Dolohov's wound, closing it. He cast a body binding spell, then snapped Dolohov's wand into pieces before hoisting his own to cast a shower of silver sparks into the sky. Then he called for Harry. Harry grabbed Hermione's hand and they ran to him.

"You sure you're all right?" Snape's hand trembled as he cupped Harry's cheek.

"Yes, sir," he said as everyone else began to close in around them.

"Draco?" Snape frowned after having a proper look at the boy.

"I'm all right," Draco said, his tone as wooden as his stance. He was standing apart from everyone, all the bravado he'd directed at Dolohov bled away.

"Why didn't you send up sparks earlier?" Snape asked him.

"We saw Lucius killed," Harry said, his eyes on Draco.

"_What?_" Snape went to Draco and wrapped a hand around his neck to pull him close; Draco turned his face into the man's chest. "Where?"

"Outside the stadium," Harry said. "One minute he was coming at us like he wanted to kill us, the next he was yelling at us to run."

Snape stared at Harry, confused.

"Mundungus…" Harry heard Dumbledore murmur as the headmaster exchanged a look with Aberforth.

"…Harry? Where's Ron?" said Hermione.

"Wha – I don't – Ron!" Harry yelled. "_RON!_"

"Here! I'm here!"

Ron materialized out of the darkness, arguing with someone: Ginny. His arm was around her waist while she clutched her hip, in obvious pain. Harry hurried over to help.

"You could have been killed! Why aren't you inside the castle with the others?"

"Because I thought helping out here was a bit more important than studying for O.W.L.s, big brother," Ginny said. Ron growled. "Oh, please! That growly thing hasn't scared me since I was two!"

"You the one who prettied up Dolohov's face?" Harry said.

"He hexed me, the dirty bastard! And I remember him from that night in the Ministry, him cursing Hermione. Bloody, toad-licking, nut sucking, tit –"

"Ginny!" Ron and Harry exploded in chorus.

"What?" she growled.

"Th – the headmaster… The professor!" Ron said, eyeing Snape and Dumbledore.

"We are at war, Mr. Weasley," Snape said. "Sweet words and politesse are the least of our concerns."

Then something exploded nearby, underscoring Snape's point that they were at the center of a battlefield, not a dinner table. He snapped his fingers, motioning for the students to gather around him.

"Get them back to the castle," Dumbledore said. "I will meet you there."

Snape froze. "Are you mad?! I'll not leave you out here to battle these monsters on your own! You come with us! We –"

Aberforth stepped up to stand beside Dumbledore. "Go, Severus. I'll stay with my brother."

Snape's face reddened. "The _hell_you will! Papa –"

Aberforth did not cut nearly as imposing a figure as his brother, but when he gave Snape a hard look the Potions master fell silent and strode over to the elder wizard. His expression left little doubt that he thought leaving the Dumbledores made as much sense as a horse on a unicycle, but he listened as Aberforth spoke.

Meanwhile Dumbledore went to Harry. As the headmaster came toward him, Harry gaped, enthralled, like a child witnessing magic for the first time. Power radiated off the old wizard so impossibly Harry wondered why Voldemort wasn't burrowing underground instead of picking a fight with this man. As it was, Harry was barely managing to curb the idiotic urge to bow at his feet.

Dumbledore smiled and laid a hand to Harry's cheek. He was a terribly tactile person, Harry knew, and he had touched Harry before, but never like this.

"My brave boy," Dumbledore said softly. With his free hand he covered Harry's heart as he had that day in his office. "Remember," he said, blue eyes twinkling with some inexplicable emotion. "Everything you need is here."

Harry couldn't help smiling as he brought up a hand to cover Dumbledore's. The old wizard laughed, a sound like a symphony, lovely and melodic in the midst of the darkness.

"Go, go, go," he said.

Harry jerked, as if snapping out of a momentary fugue state. He continued to stare until a smiling Dumbledore nodded toward Snape; the man had been calling him and Harry hadn't heard. When Snape called again, Harry went to him. Had he known it was the last time he would see Dumbledore alive, he would have said something, done something more.

But another explosion shattered the night, so close, chunks of earth rained down feet from the group. When white-masked figures burst into sight, Aberforth roared, "Move!"

Snape wasted no time in obeying.

As they ran, Harry glanced back several times to see the brothers working in tandem. The seamlessness of their magic took his breath. It also crushed a satisfying number of Voldemort's lot.

Once they crested the incline, Harry spotted strangers and Order members running in the direction he and the others had just come from. He wasn't sure, but he thought he glimpsed Ossie, the Glass Hoof's Watchman, galloping alongside a young dark-skinned wizard at a speed a ninety year-old should not be able to pull off. Then Emmeline Vance and someone else Harry didn't recognize ran into view.

"Severus!" She shouted. "Where is Albus?"

Snape jerked his head. "Straight back, about 200 meters. Aberforth is with him." Emmeline and her partner started running in that direction. "Vance! The explosions?"

"Blast-Ended Skrewts! Charlie n' the twins!"

Harry turned to find Ron beaming, as if he had just discovered an island made of gold.

Steps away from Ravenclaw Tower they stopped, their path blocked, but they were not surprised. McGonagall had played out this scenario at least three times a week since March. She had even trained Luna, Padma, and Blaise to assist with the animation spell, if necessary.

Instead of Order members or students, a brigade of Hogwarts' knights and statues oversaw the gap between the two towers. But McGonagall must have raided other parts of the castle to beef up the numbers. Harry recognized many of the knights from having passed them daily in the corridors, but the others' rusted and battered state suggested they had just been plucked out of storage after what looked like half a millennium. He jumped at the clamor when they made ready their halberds, lances, and spears.

Sir Iacchus, the tallest, most forbidding-looking knight of the lot leveled his longsword at the head of the group—Snape. Harry darted forward, but Snape stopped him with a raised hand.

"Speak well if you desire entrance. If you mean fell deeds, be gone," the knight said, words bouncing about hollowly within his pewter-toned helmet.

Snape murmured something Celtic and lyrical. Satisfied, the knight motioned the sentries flanking him to make a hole. Once Snape and the children passed through, the guardians came back together with a clang of metal on metal and grind of stone on stone.

*WO

**The Entrance Hall, Hogwarts_…10:16 p.m._**

They met Ernie Macmillan and Dean at the Entrance Hall's doors. The two boys had their wands drawn, but Dean lowered his once he saw who was coming.

"Professor Snape! Hermione! _Gin_ –"

"See here, Dean." Ernie threw out a hand to block the Gryffindor, his wand still trained on the new arrivals. "How do we know they are who they appear to be?"

Dean scowled and shoved Ernie's arm down. "Don't be stupid. They couldn't get past the guards otherwise."

"We don't know for sure." Ernie's arm bounced back up. When Dean jigged wide to avoid it, his elbow knocked into Ernie's wand. A spell rebounded off the stone wall, hitting Draco in the leg. He grimaced and fell to his knees, clutching his left thigh.

"Macmillan!" Snape roared as he crouched next to Draco. "You _bloody_imbecile – Put that thing down!"

Ernie's arm collapsed noodle-like at his side. "Malfoy – I didn't – Merlin, are you all right?"

"Does he look all right, Ernie?" Ron snarled, clenching his fist against the urge to clout the Hufflepuff in his swotty, pompous mouth.

"I hate to be a stickler," Dean said, "but we need to keep this doorway clear."

As they shuffled out into the Entrance Hall, the sound of someone approaching at a run caused them turn as one, wands drawn. McGonagall. Faced with the small band of wands, she held up her hands. "Severus! Thank Merlin… I'm on my way to the dungeons. The protections may have been breached. If not, they've almost certainly been tampered with."

Snape cursed. "I'll go," he said. After passing Draco off to her he shot off toward the dungeons.

"DAD!"

Snape skidded to a stop. Recognizing the frantic, rebellious look on Harry's face, he growled. "Don't you dare move from this spot until I get back. I mean it, Harry. Stay here. Minerva, keep my boys _here_!"

The witch nodded distractedly then ordered the battered group to the Great Hall. Because of its massive size, it now doubled as the hospital wing. Halfway there, someone shouted at her from the stairs leading up to Gryffindor Tower.

"Here, Potter." She put Draco's arm around Harry's neck. "You're to follow through to the Great Hall as directed, understand?"

Harry nodded, and waited. The second McGonagall's feet hit the stairs, he turned to Ron. "Here." He tried to pass off Draco to him, but Draco refused to take his arm from around Harry's neck.

"What are you doing?" Hermione asked.

"Going down to the dungeons," Harry said, red-faced with struggling to free himself from Draco.

"You're mad if you think I'm not coming with you!" Draco said.

Hermione grabbed Harry's elbow. "You don't know who might be down there."

"Neither does Snape."

"He demanded that you stay put. Plus, Snape is a powerful wizard who won't hesitate to defend himself."

Harry stopped struggling with Draco for a moment to stare at Hermione. "Are you calling me a coward?"

Hermione glared at him. "Of course not! But you're being ridiculously rash about this! Not that it's at all surprising."

Harry frowned. "Thanks for that, but this is hardly the time to be cautious. If anything happens to him…"

"But what if –"

"Hermione, I'm going. I don't have time to argue with you."

Feeling ignored, Draco yelled, "Potter, I'm coming –"

"Be quiet!" Harry hissed.

"Harry, you musn't –"

"If you don't –"

Hermione and Draco spoke over one another.

Ron said, "Go."

Harry stared at him.

"_Ron!_"

"Hermione! What if it was your dad? If it was mine…"

Hermione gaped, looking mortified. "That's not what I – I just – I don't want you to get hurt… a-and Snape said –" She trembled and stuttered as she bit her lip, her way of coping after realizing she was dead wrong.

Harry nodded. "I know, but, I'm going. That's it. Malfoy… Let go of me and get to the Great Hall."

"Fix my leg. If you don't, I'm coming anyway. You won't be so quick with me hanging off your back." He tightened his arm around Harry's neck.

Harry gagged. "Goddamn it! Fine!" Then, "I can't reach it if you don't loosen your grip, Malfoy!"

"Oh, yes… Sorry."

With a huff Harry touched Draco's injured thigh.

"Let's go!" Draco said, off and running before Harry had removed his hand.

*WO


	28. Chapter 28

Disclaimer: JK Rowling's characters.

**The Owlery, Hogwarts** _**…10:20 p.m.**_

Wide eyes flickered within the stone room like thousands of golf ball-sized lamps, but a bulbous pair of pale blue ones upset the saffron-tinted uniformity. Standing next to Hedwig at one of the tower's glassless windows, Luna scratched the spot above the owl's beak—a thing Harry claimed Hedwig loved. But instead of hissing happily like she typically would have done, the owl stared out into the night, coldly focused on what she had been bid to do.

In February, she delivered a note to Dumbledore from Hagrid. The headmaster's face had darkened with concern as he read of the half-giant's failure to win over the Adar Llwch Gwin, but it took only a moment for him to come up with an alternative scheme. Snow still lay thick upon Hedwig's wings and her talons had barely gripped Fawkes's perch when Dumbledore ordered her to marshal a massive parliament of owls and ready them for battle.

Over the following months Hedwig mined every hayloft and tree hollow across the country, scouring areas as far north as the Shetland islands, and as far south as Falmouth. By the beginning of April she had more than exceeded Dumbledore's expectations. No one in the castle had noticed the influx of birds because few used owl post anymore.

Shortly, Hedwig hooted and leaned forward, eyes glued to the lake.

"I see them, too," Luna said as white-masked figures darted away from the lake's shore, heading toward the castle. She counted: five, twelve, twenty-seven. "I think it's time."

Hedwig bobbed her head up and down as if in response. Luna gave one last stroke above the owl's beak.

"Do be careful, lovely girl."

Hedwig gently nicked the Ravenclaw's finger, then spread her wings. Holding them aloft, she looked to her left: Packed in tightly from floor to ceiling, barn owls and diminutive scops owls eyed her expectantly; to her right, majestic eagle owls perched at attention, their ear tufts and bright orange eyes giving them a fierce, haughty air; swiveling her head to peer behind her she regarded long-eared and short-eared owls crowded in alongside hawk owls and tawnies, their flood of brown broken up by one other snowy owl, a handsome, but savage-looking male.

Luna stepped back. Straw and the bones of small rodents crackled beneath her feet. The noise agitated a few of the birds and the restless rustle of feathery bodies filled the room. Hedwig sounded a sharp hoot, calling them back to order, then she shot out into the night.

Luna's hair whipped about her face like gossamer as the others followed, the lash of their wings oddly silent, like death. As the last of them left the tower, she hurried up to the window. She leaned out and let loose a piercing whistle, following it with a, "_Creak_, _creak!_" sound.

In the distance, Hedwig answered back with the same.

*WO

**Corridor, Dungeons, Hogwarts** _**…10:37 p.m.**_

Harry and Draco stopped when they heard a scream; when a man spoke, they stared at each other, wide-eyed.

"…absolute embarrassment to Pure-bloods everywhere, Longbottom."

"Nevi –" Harry began before Draco clapped a hand over his mouth and pulled him back against the wall.

"Wait!" He hissed into Harry's ear.

"It's a pity my late sister-in-law didn't exterminate your entire family when she had the chance. It would have been a mercy, not only for your feeble-minded parents, but for Pure-blood Britain as well."

Neville chuckled hoarsely. "Says the man whose Pure-blood son is being raised alongside Half-blood, Harry Potter by the Order's super-spy, Severus Snape. _You_ want to talk embarrassing, Malfoy? My Gran must have laughed her h-hat off when I t-told her!"

Neville laughed—full-throated, belly-gripping laughter that, to Harry, sounded far too genuine to be normal.

"Foul, useless, blob of shite!" A thud and a pained grunt sounded. "Give me the password to the Slytherin common room!"

Neville gasped. "What makes you think I know it?"

"You know it because you've befriended those gutless little turncoats Parkinson, Nott, and Zabini."

"And Draco. I don't know if he thinks the same of me, but I consider him a friend now."

"Well, how unbelievably stupid of you. I can almost understand his attachment to Potter—after all, the boy has a modicum of infamy in our world, but what have you to offer? Nothing. You've nothing beyond the Longbottom name which, these days, rates as much esteem as my old house-elf." Lucius laughed. "Draco, a friend? My son would just as soon piss on you than befriend you."

"Before maybe, but he's different now, 'specially when it comes to you. Up until this year, to hear him tell it, you might well have invented magic. 'My father this, my father that.' He never shut up about you… Whatever you did to turn him against you must have been pretty awful."

"I did what was necessary, and I have suffered more than he will ever know because of him and his mother. He knows _nothing_ of sacrifice."

"He knows. He gave up everything to get away from you, didn't he? And he'd die for Professor Snape; I even think he'd take a curse for Harry."

"More the fool, him." Lucius snorted derisively. "Calling on a lover of Mudbloods to 'rescue' him from his home, discarding his birthright and place of prestige in wizarding society as if it had no more meaning than a bit of rubbish... You think my son brave for behaving the way he did."

"I do."

The click of boot heels indicated Lucius was moving about.

"When the Dark Lord rose again, my wife decided she didn't want Draco to receive the Mark. Stupid woman, she might as well have spat in the Dark Lord's face. Reject the highest honor he bestows upon his followers? And to what end? He would have killed us all! So in a show of fidelity, of sacrifice, for my lord –" The footsteps halted "– I killed her."

Draco made a small sound like an injured kitten. Harry didn't look back at him, but he gripped Draco's hand when Draco grasped his.

"Sacrifice?" Neville snarled. "_Sacrifice?!_ Your own wife?! Merlin! The smartest thing Draco ever did was to get out from under your black-hearted thumb! I don't know how he stoo –"

"_Crucio!_"

Harry and Draco charged around the corner.

Neville lay rigid on the corridor's floor, mouth open in a soundless scream, his eyes rolled back to stare helplessly, unseeingly. Lucius towered over him, lips a bloodless line against his teeth, eyes red and glassy with rage. Harry roared. He thrust his right hand out and sent the man flying into the wall. Lucius lost his grip on his wand and it ricocheted off the floor into the air. Draco Summoned it as Harry moved his index finger in a tight circular motion, binding Lucius in rope.

In a mad scramble to put distance between him and Lucius, Neville kept collapsing to the floor when he tried to get to his feet. Harry went to squat beside him, to try and calm him. Gray-skinned and sweaty, Neville looked half dead as he slumped against the wall.

"M'…f-fine." He stammered through chattering teeth. His hand shook as he dragged his shirt sleeve underneath his nose, coating the grimy, grass-stained material red. He rolled his eyes up to look at Harry. "W-where's Malfoy?"

"Tied up behind me. How long you been down here?"

Neville coughed. "Dunno, 'bout ten, fifteen minutes or so?"

Draco paled. "He's been casting curses on you all that time?"

"No, just once, before. I told him to kiss my arse when he demanded I tell him how to get into Slytherin. That made him a bit mad, I guess."

"What are you doing down here?" Harry said.

"Pansy, Theo and me, we were on our way to the broom sheds when they blew up. We almost –" Neville gestured weakly with his hand.

"Yeah," said Harry.

"After that, an Auror, yelled at us to head for the castle. We did, but then we got separated. Once I made it into the castle, I started looking for McGonagall, anyone from the Order. That's when Theo's Patronus found me, saying someone was trying to get into Slytherin. When I got down here, Malfoy stunned me."

When Neville tried shifting to sit up straighter, he gasped and clutched his hip.

"Let's get you to Pomfrey." Draco began to lift the boy up.

"I'm all right," Neville said, brushing him off. "I don't need the hospital. I need to find out what's going on in Slytherin."

"So do we," said Harry. "We were following Dad down when we ran into –" he waved a hand "– this."

"'Dad'?" Lucius said, sounding as if he had a hairball lodged in his throat. "Draco, tell me you are not calling that filth –"

"And if I am?" Draco had inherited his mother's lithe build, but everything else was Lucius, right down to the acidic scowl on the boy's face.

"He is a traitor and a liar and he –"

"And he's a better man than you!"

"Mind your tongue, Draco!" Lucius snapped. Draco fused his lips together in obedience so quickly, Harry marveled at the sight. Lucius continued: "You are my son, of my blood, you bear my name, yet you would defend _him_ to me? How dare you! You know of Severus's… proclivities, that he would sooner screw a –"

"YOU SHUT YOUR MOUTH!" Draco leapt to his feet and stormed over to Lucius. "DON'T CALL ME YOUR SON! AND DON'T YOU DARE SPEAK OF HIM, _EVER_!"

"_I_ don't dare speak of him? You know what he did! He betrayed –"

"He saved my life! And what did you do? You killed my _MOTHER!_ She was your _WIFE!_ You soulless, evil, evil…"

Harry hurried over to Draco to grasp the Slytherin's shoulder; Draco shook him off. When Harry took hold of him again, Draco hung his head and let him. Knowing words would ring hollow, Harry didn't say anything. Instead, he squeezed gently, unleashing a tiny lick of healing magic,and the tension in Draco's body eased in a slow ripple. After a moment, he swiped at his eyes and smoothed his hair back off his forehead.

"Let's go," he said.

Harry went to help Neville to his feet.

"What about _him_?" Neville eyed Lucius as though he was a fly-infested pile of goat pellets.

Harry considered the bonds around the man and added a few more, continuing until Lucius looked ready to star in a remake of the old Muggle horror movie, _The Mummy_.

"He's not going anywhere," he said coldly, and they started away. Soon he and Draco were running, with Neville performing an awkward hop-skip between them to keep up.

*WO

**Near the Whomping Willow, Hogwarts** **…**_**11:01 p.m.**_

Rabastan and Rodolphus Lestrange invaded Hogwarts via Hogsmeade. The village's train station sat near the lake, an absurdly strategic place to access the grounds—provided none of Dumbledore's people were lodged there, and their own men steered clear of the Forbidden Forest's edge. When they met with no resistance on the lake side of the station (not even a bloody guard dog) they piled into the small boats reserved for transporting first-years and started for the shore. However, once they reached the middle of the lake they met with a nasty surprise: the giant squid, thousands of brittle-fingered grindylows, and an army of screeching Merpeople, all working to hinder their every move.

In a fit of arrogance, the brothers had concluded that, like the forest creatures, those in the lake wouldn't stick their noses into wizarding affairs. But as the giant squid dragged boat after boat and man after man under the water, they realized their mistake. They quickly ordered their remaining men to abandon the boats for the lake's craggy shore—the part of the shore that bordered the dreaded southeastern edge of the forest.

Those few that made it hauled themselves from the water, exhausted. Unaware of how close they were to the forest's edge, their numbers thinned even more dramatically as something lurking within the forest's depths began picking them off. Later, while being questioned by Aurors at St. Mungo's or Azkaban—depending on their condition—several claimed to have seen their comrades plucked out of the night by long, hairy, insectile legs—spider's legs.

For now, Rabastan shot out his arm, preventing his brother from moving forward. They were alone, having been separated from their men by a curious infestation of owls. A snowy white one had been in the lead, steering the onslaught of feathers, talons, and sharp beaks, driving many of their men right back against the forest's edge.

Wondering why the hell Rabastan stopped him, Rodolphus slapped his brother's arm out of the way and growled at him. "What in bloody hell –"

"Quiet!"

"Rab, we –"

"Can't you hear it?" Rabastan jutted his head forward, and cocked his right ear into the darkness. The sound was coming from above, but it wasn't owls; the birds had shifted direction, turning on a dime to head east into the forest.

Rodolphus opened his mouth to curse his brother an idiot once again, but then he heard it too, a low-pitched whizzing of something slicing through the air followed by a _thunk_ as it punctured the earth—and flesh. Rodolphus gaped as black-cloaked, white-masked bodies began falling around him without trace of spell or curse having interfered.

He dashed to one of the unmoving bodies, Rabastan on his heels. He cast a muted _Lumos,_then began to drag his wand the length of the body, starting at the head. He had just passed the neck when he spied a short arrow. Adorned with a red, green, yellow, and blue fletching, it protruded neatly from between the dead wizard's shoulders. Puzzled, Roldophus looked north, toward Hogwarts.

He squinted, spotting something atop one of the towers that stood out in front of the castle. He squinted harder, then with a growl of irritation, he conjured a pair of Omnioculars. Once he got them focused, he stared, disbelieving: House-elves, rows of them. Clad in Hogwarts tea towels, they stood along the battlements of the West Tower. Rodolphus nearly laughed because they had miniature bows and arrows. A centaur with a palomino body and white-blond hair stood at the center, though his own bow and quiver lay holstered across his back. His job seemed to be to signal the little devils when to fire.

Like bug-eyed Jacks-in-the-Box a row of the vermin fired, then ducked down as another row popped up to take their place. It went on and on like that until all six rows of thirty had taken a turn. It was bloody effective.

When something whirred by Rodolphus's left ear, so close it nicked his lobe, he turned to Rabastan. "Put out that light, you damn fool!"

"_Nox!_"

Rodolphus raised his wand toward the tower. He knew he was too far away to kill any of them, but the blood trickling down his neck and the sight of dead men piling up around him enraged him.

"_Avada Kedavra!_" He roared. Green light arced through the sky. Considering his position, it travelled an admirable distance until it struck something that squawked. That something then spiraled down to land with a heavy crunch.

"What the devil was that?" Rabastan asked.

Rodolphus looked skyward. He didn't see anything. "Doesn't matter. Where is Bagman?"

"How the bloody fuck should I know?"

As the eldest, Rodolphus had always looked after his brother. They came from an old Pure-blood family obsessed with purity and power. Their parents had been in Slytherin with Tom Riddle and had the distinction of being the first of his Death Eaters, which meant that the majority of their time had been spent in his company, leaving their young children to be raised by a string of governesses. But Rodolphus was strong-willed and detested strangers bossing him and his brother around, thus he had essentially raised Rabastan alone. And now, as he had oftentimes before, he wanted to clobber the man senseless.

"You were supposed to make sure he did his job of corralling some thestrals for the Dark Lord's exhibition!"

"How in ten hells was I supposed to keep up with him with those bloody owls gutting us? Eh? Ask me, that spineless, blubbering thief should be nowhere near this fight! He's about as useful as an ice cube in Hell!"

"I didn't ask your opinion, I asked why –" Rodolphus's rant was interrupted when an arrow pierced his throat, entering through the back and continuing until its point protruded out of his Adam's apple.

Rabastan stared, unblinking, even as an angry starburst of blood coated his face. "Ro!" He screamed.

Rodolphus collapsed, his fingers clawing at the arrow in his neck. Rabastan let out a sound like a pained bleat and followed his brother to the ground. Kneeling next to Rodolphus's twitching body, Rabastan grabbed at his brother's robes and pulled, determined to get the man in to a sitting position.

"Ro," he growled, squeezing his fingers against his brother'sneck, trying to staunch the unrelenting flow of blood. "Ro, breathe…"

Rodolphus's eyes rolled, connecting with Rabastan's. His lips, shiny with blood, moved in a soundless grimace as he jerked, gurgled, then fell still.

"Ro?" Rabastan shook his brother. "Ro, breathe! Come on, brother… Please! D-don't leave me! You can't leave me!" Clutching Rodolphus to his chest, Rabastan howled, then he grunted, falling sideways as a spell nailed his right shoulder.

When he fell, his grip on his brother loosened so that they landed facing one another. Rabastan stared into his brother's eyes. They shared the same hazel eye color, the same black hair color, and the same lady-killing smirk. Growing up, they'd always had to deny being twins as Rodolphus was two years older than Rabastan.

"Lestrange." Someone growled. "Fancy meetin' you here."

Rabastan tore his eyes from his brother's dead gaze to look up at the stocky, malformed shadow hovering over him. 'Mad-Eye' Moody. _The crusty old cunt,_ Rabastan thought.

"Come to collect me for Azkaban?"

"Oh, no," Moody said in a low voice, "no, there's a special place in Hell for scum like you, scum who murder their victim's by flayin'em alive… the way you did Tonks and Podmore. I tracked your signature, Lestrange. Your magic has a distinct foulness to it."

"Ro thought it was a bit of… overkill, so to speak, even scolded me for it, but I thought it was brilliant, a masterful bit of magic, but I wonder… Why, so worked up about it, old man? Were you sticking it to the little purple-haired bitch?"

"Not the way I'm about to stick it to you, boyo."

"Fuck you," Rabastan managed, just before the ex-Auror muttered: "_Avada Kedavra._"

*WO

**Slytherin Common Room, Dungeons, Hogwarts** _**…11:40 p.m.**_

Harry didn't expect the ruckus that normally filled the dungeons, but this eerie, unnatural quiet unsettled him; he didn't know if it was a good sign or bad that the corridor was so deserted. Even Peeves or the Bloody Baron lurking about would be a welcome commotion. Then he stumbled.

"Harry?" Neville grabbed his elbow.

Draco was several paces ahead. He stopped when he realized he was alone. He looked back to find Harry doubled over, his head in his hands. Grimacing, Neville had stooped down to be level with him.

"Harry? What's the matter, mate?" Neville awkwardly patted Harry's shoulder.

"Scar… _hurt_s…"

"Potter? What's this? What's wrong?"

"His scar's hurting. It means –"

Harry moaned and slowly straightened up. "He's close, I think."

Draco looked confused. "Who? What are you two on about?"

"He-Who-Must-Not… V-Voldemort," Neville said, face pinking. "Harry's scar's always bothersome when V-Voldemort's close…" Neville's eyes widened. "Or if he's trying to get into Harry's head. He's not –"

"No," Harry said, when he could manage to look Neville in the eye without seeing white spots. "He hasn't tried that since last year."

"Then he must be here…" Neville looked around as if Voldemort might jump out at them any second.

Harry rubbed at his forehead. "I don't know. We need to keep going, though."

"You sure you're up to it?" Draco said, worry pinching his features.

"Don't exactly have a choice, do I?"

Draco's lips thinned and he gave a curt nod. Harry and Neville followed him around the corner to a stretch of bare, damp stone wall.

"_Antitheton_." He muttered and a stone door concealed in the wall slid open to reveal the Slytherin common room.

Ten wands and a room full of grim, frightened faces welcomed them as they stepped inside. Gregory Goyle stood at the fore of the group, though his wand seemed the shakiest of the lot.

"Draco?" He lowered his arm and dragged his feet up the stone steps.

"Greg, where's my dad?" Draco asked; Goyle's heavy brow furrowed in confusion.

"Professor Snape." Neville prompted. "Where is he?"

"Oh…gone," Goyle said. His deep, gravelly voice sounded strangely spacey, like Luna's. He had a long, bloody slash running from the bottom of his left ear, curving around under his chin; Harry wondered if the boy shouldn't be under Pomfrey's care.

"Gone where?"

"Dunno. He was here for a while. I saw him…" Goyle trailed off. His eyes wandered off to a shadowy corner near the low pit where study tables sat.

"Saw him, what?" Draco said, with uncharacteristic patience.

"He, uh, he was hurt, I think..."

"Hurt?" Harry barked. "Are you sure?" When Goyle kept staring into the corner, Harry gripped the boy's shoulders, hard, and shook him. "Goyle! Snape…"

"He grabbed his wrist," Goyle said, "– his left wrist… Then he left."

"_When_, Greg?" Draco asked.

Goyle shook his head listlessly. "…Five, ten minutes ago?" He looked away from the corner to make eye contact with Draco, who flinched. No one could ever accuse Goyle of being an emotional sort, so that he looked seconds away from bursting into tears unnerved Draco more than if he had witnessed the boy gutting a dog.

"Crabbe's dead!" Goyle blurted. "H-he's DEAD! I've never seen a dead person! Never seen –"

Draco, Harry, and Neville's eyes were immediately drawn to the shadowy corner that had riveted Goyle since their arrival. They had to shift forward to see it—a Crabbe-shaped lump shrouded in a green and silver brocade drape stained with a massive amount of dark liquid. Draco exhaled heavily and his eyes slid closed. Crabbe had been a cruel, mindless, sycophant, but Draco had known him since they were toddlers.

"Is-is Pansy here?" Neville's voiced cracked with fear. "Did she make it back all right?"

Goyle said, "I was sitting with Hannah Abbott at the match. She's a nice girl, you know? Real nice… She talked to me about –"

"Goyle!" Neville nearly yelled. "Pansy, Theo, Blaise! Are they here?"

"They were… Blaise and Theo left, again. Pansy's having a hard go, though. She saw it... She saw those werewolves attack Vince!" Goyle's voice increased in volume and pitch, and then horribly, he started crying.

"Neville," Harry said. The other boy nodded, then limped down the steps to take Goyle's elbow. He led the Slytherin to a high backed chair occupied by a dazed second-year softly whimpering for her mummy. Neville murmured something to her and she rose to curl up next to a sleeping first-year boy on a blanket on the floor in front of the fire.

After settling Goyle in the chair, Neville crouched beside him. Every few seconds Goyle's head bobbed up and down in a ragged fashion.

"Neville?" A small voice came from the curved stairway which Harry knew led to the dorms.

"Pansy!" Neville winced as he bounced to his feet. Pansy flew into his arms, clinging to him, her body trembling with sobs.

"Let's go," Draco said to Harry and they exited the room.

*WO

**Corridor, Dungeons, Hogwarts** **…**_**12:11 a.m.**_

Draco. And Harry Potter.

Seeing them had been unexpected. Oh, Lucius knew he was likely to face them at some point during the battle—he just hadn't expected it to be so soon. He hadn't seen Draco since that ragged passel of Weasleys invaded Malfoy Manor disrupting Draco's initiation ceremony. They had made Lucius look foolish, had made him vulnerable to suspicion and the Dark Lord's whims. That had been a long, terrible night. And he had the scars to prove it. A virtual map of them crisscrossed his back and legs. But soon he would induce his own scars, make others vulnerable to his whims. He would have his revenge.

And though he hated it, he had to admit that Longbottom had been right on one count: Lucius no longer knew his son. The ungrateful little bastard had bargained on strangers instead family, had chosen death over life. It stung, but it was nothing compared to what he, Potter, and every other fool who dared defy the Dark Lord would soon feel.

With that in mind he began to chant, focused on loosening the bonds binding him.

*WO

**A Secret Passage, Hogwarts**_**…12:38 a.m.**_

Harry palmed the wall's uneven stones. A passage should be there; he'd seen it on the map. Draco, convinced the route would be ill-lit, claustrophobic, and worst of all, filthy, balked at Harry's promise of a "quick and easy" way to the ground floor. He suggested (demanded) that they make their way back to the Entrance Hall the old-fashioned way, but Harry refused, insisting the passage would be faster.

"Ah ha!" He crowed when a hole in the wall cracked open, expelling an arid, moldy breath. He coughed and fanned the stink away. "_Lumos Maximus_."

As Harry aimed his wand into the darkness, Draco stretched to peek over his shoulder.

"Right," he said. "I'm not going in there, Potter."

"We have to…" Harry directed his wand around, scoping out the passage's condition.

"We most certainly do not. This is rubbish. We could have been upstairs by now! You taking all this time looking for this stupid –"

"Rats."

"_What?_" Draco squeaked and leapt onto Harry's back. "Where?"

"Not real ones, you girl!" Harry growled and shook the boy off. "It's just really… dirty."

"Well of course it is! It's probably blocked off from some cave-in or something, making it completely unsafe! I'm NOT going in there, Potter!"

Harry had to admit, the boy had a point. Other passages had been blocked off by cave-ins, and this one didn't look all that promising, but he still wanted to try.

"Just trust me," he said, swatting at a clump of spider webs to clear them from the entrance. He poked around a bit more, shuttling a rotting side table that looked as if rats had gnawed at it off to the side with his foot. He didn't want Draco seeing _that_.

"I do," the Slytherin said quietly, making Harry jump.

Harry turned to look at him, momentarily confused. "You do what?"

Draco grimaced, as if about to confess that he was secretly lusting after Millicent Bulstrode. "…Trust you."

Harry snorted. "You utter Slytherin."

Draco drew his shoulders back and stuck his chin in the air. "Yes, well, there had better not be anything remotely rodent-like in there."

Harry grinned. "So, you'll be staying here, then?"

"Shut it you… How's the head?"

Harry rubbed at his scar. "All right, now, actually."

"And the shoulder?"

"Huh?"

"From that spell. When you were flying to get me?"

Harry frowned and shrugged the injured joint. He'd completely forgotten about it in the ensuing chaos.

"S' fine. Like it never happened."

"_Never happened?_ It should have knocked you flat."

"I don't know… I didn't even think about it 'til you mentioned it."

Draco stared. "You think it has to do with your magic?"

Harry shrugged again, oddly annoyed. "If it does, why didn't my leg heal on its own after Hogsmeade?"

"You were out of it, scared."

"I was scared tonight, too."

"Mm… worried about Granger, Weasley –"

"And you. Look, could we not do this, again?"

"There's no need to get snippy."

Harry sighed. "Draco, I wasn't going to let you fall."

"I know."

Harry snorted and turned to proceed farther into the passage. "Right. Now, come on."

"I wanted… I just wanted to say… thank you."

"Ooh, that must'a hurt." Harry giggled, then scowled when Draco poked him in the side.

As they walked on, deeper into the dark, Draco said softly, "You think he's okay?"

The light from Harry's wand burned white hot for an instant before he looked back at the Slytherin.

"He'd better be."

*WO


	29. Chapter 29

Disclaimer: JK Rowling's characters.

**The Great Hall, Hogwarts**_** …12:53 a.m.**_

Harry and Draco exited the antechamber off the Great Hall.

"Oh, man."

Save for the enchanted ceiling mirroring the night's sky, the room was unrecognizable. Row upon row of hospital beds filled the space, occupying every nook and cranny, even the dais where the High Table normally sat. None of this was unexpected—the beds and the wounded filling them—but Harry had to admit he was not prepared for the number, at least not this early in the fight. He couldn't bring himself to linger on the faces of the bedridden. The thought of a bloodied Hermione, a burned Ron, a legless Seamus…

"Harry."

Harry looked up. "Galen?"

Clad in blood-red robes like the ones he'd worn a year ago while tending Snape, the young healer approached, his hand out. Harry shook it, only now noticing the swarm of similarly robed healers weaving about the room.

"I didn't know you were here," he said.

"Oh, yes. We've been on heightened alert since the day after the attack on Hogsmeade. We've had a few false starts since then, but I had a feeling this was the real deal, particularly when the administrators shuttered the hospital." He cocked a brow as he perused Harry. "What are you doing here?"

"Looking for Snape."

"Ah, well, we've been popping since just before eleven or so, but I've not seen any staff among the masses."

"The masses," Harry said bitterly.

Galen groaned and knocked a fist to his forehead. "Oh, Harry. I – I'm so used to chatting with other healers. You know, I've always wished I'd inherited my uncle's diplomacy. Unfortunately I'm burdened with Aberfoth's, er, my granddad's bluntness."

"Granddad? _Aberforth _is your granddad?"

"You didn't know... Of course you didn't know. Don't know why I'm surprised. We're a rather secretive clan when it comes to family. Bloody Dumbledores… It's why I use my mother's maiden name."

Harry longed to grill Galen further, but the _swish_ of the Hall's doors drew his attention. Ron. He held a sobbing Tracey Davis in his arms. Her right leg, from knee to foot, was a meaty mess of exposed muscle. Ron whipped his head left and right, hunting for help. Galen was already halfway across the room, moving with a grace that called the headmaster to mind. _No bloody wonder, _Harry thought just as Ron saw him, blue eyes widening in happy surprise. Galen then directed Ron to a bed where the boy eased Tracey down. He paused a moment to pat her hand and say something to her. She nodded and looked over at Harry and Draco, giving them a tired wave; they waved back.

"Harry, mate, how long you been here?" Ron said after jogging up.

"Not long. We used a secret passage to come up from the dungeons. Where have you been?"

Ron winced. "Outside, helping bring in the wounded. After you left, Pomfrey saw me, thought I was just fannying about and drafted me. S'been bloody awful."

"You seen the professor? Hermione?"

"No. I haven't even seen any of my _own_ family since Ginny, and now I don't know where she's got to…"

"She's there," said Draco, pointing toward the doors which were being held open to more casualties.

Through the gap, they glimpsed a contingent of teachers, Aurors, and Order members standing in the middle of the Entrance Hall; Molly had her arms around Ginny. But as the door was pushed open wider Harry spotted a tall, lean figure in black, arguing with McGonagall. He took off, zigzagging through the maze of beds like a pinball, somehow avoiding knocking into the healers roaming about.

Looking over her mother's shoulder, Ginny saw him first. She laughed, then tapped Snape on the back. He turned to see what she was pointing at. When he saw Harry his eyes widened a fraction before he shut them tight, but when Harry called to him, he opened them. The dark irises shimmered with water.

Though he was still steps away, Harry launched himself at the man. Snape swept him up and gripped him close, knuckles white with the effort. Seconds later he clutched Draco in his other arm as the blond collided with him, too.

*WO

**Staff Room, Ground Floor, Hogwarts** _**…1:15 a.m.**_

"Where have you _been_?" Harry spoke into Snape's neck before the man lowered him to the floor.

"I – Hush. Let me –" Snape's voice shook as he dragged his nose through Harry's hair.

"Severus –"

"Draco. Quiet."

The boys kept silent. Draco closed his eyes and buried his face in Snape's chest, but Harry watched Snape, taking in the man's look of disbelief as he held them. Despite their sweaty, mucky state he kept burying his nose in their hair, pressing his lips to their temples.

Long moments later, when Snape's grip on them began to lessen and his touches became less greedy, Harry tried again: "Where have you been?"

Snape tweaked his earlobe, making Harry draw up a shoulder and bat at the man's hand. "Looking for you..." Snape sounded as if he could manage nothing above a whisper. "You were to stay put –"

"I know, but we wanted –"

"Harry!"

Hermione was racing up the stairs leading from the dungeons. Harry let go of Snape to embrace her.

"Oh, thank goodness!" She muttered into his chin.

"Winky should have the staffroom ready, now." McGonagall raised her voice to be heard over the din.

Ron stood caged within Molly's arms, red-faced and squirming as she tried to clean a smudge off his chin with her wet thumb. Flitwick and Sprout were talking and gesticulating to a trio of men, Aurors, judging from their brown robes, but when McGonagall spoke Snape fell into step behind her. The rest of the group trailed them.

The staffroom was L-shaped with paneled walls. Mismatched dark wooden chairs, a large wardrobe that was sometimes inhabited by a boggart and a long wooden table filled the room. The table had plenty chairs to accommodate everyone, but McGonagall, Ron, and the black-haired Auror chose to stand; Moody plunked himself onto a barstool next to the door.

_Vigilant as ever_, Harry mused.

"While we wait for Aberforth, Proudfoot, tell us what you know," said McGonagall, speaking to another Auror.

"Where is Aberforth?" Snape asked sharply.

"I had Terry Boot accompany him to the Great Hall so a healer could see to his leg."

Harry sat forward. "What's wrong with his leg? And where's Dumbledore?"

"Dead," said a ragged voice from the doorway. Everyone turned to look. Aberforth.

"No!" Professor Sprout wailed.

She wasn't alone. Shouts of anguished disbelief, and outrage filled the room. Harry looked at Snape. The man looked as if he had just been slogged in the groin. Ron was gripping the back of his mother's chair, fingers white, brow sweaty, as if he was about to be ill. Everyone looked gutted, save McGonagall, but her ashen pallor spoke volumes—she had known, but hearing it again was like hearing it for the first time.

Bearing his weight on a thick, gnarled wooden staff, Aberforth limped into the room, his right knee tightly bandaged. A rogue strip of the material hung loose in the back as though the dressing had been done in haste. Harry rose to go to him, but Snape and the black-haired Auror beat him to it.

Once settled, Aberforth said: "Albus and I were at the Whomping Willow. We'd done in maybe six or seven of Voldemort's lot, but it seemed like when we laid one down, two or three popped up in their place. Then all of a sudden, I felt my kneecap go; the curse had come from behind me. Albus saw me when I fell…"

Aberforth's eyes watered and he ran a jittery hand over his mouth. Ron went to the small sink and cabinet in the corner and filled a short glass with water. He brought it to the elderly wizard. Aberforth took it, sloshing a fair bit onto his robes because his hand shook. He looked Ron over.

"Harry's friend. Weasley, yeah?"

"Ron Weasley, sir."

"You got brothers."

"Five, sir."

"You the youngest?"

"The youngest boy, yes, sir."

Aberforth gulped a bit of water, then said, "It's a hard thing, being a brother, but us younger ones, we suffer what the elders have already done—good, bad, and indifferent, eh?"

Ron nodded, a grim, knowing smile at his lips.

"Comes a time, though, when none of that matters. After I waved at Albus that I was all right, he roared." Aberforth uttered a bark of laughter. "Sounded just like a bloody lion. Then he brought his wand up, like some goddamn orchestra conductor, then he brought it down, made the earth come apart beneath those masked devils, but the curse hit the Willow too, exposed some of her roots. Riled her, it did. A couple of Riddle's people were slain when her limbs started breaking off, flying this way and that.

"It's how I ended up with this." Aberforth thumped the stick on the floor. "Landed right where I could grab it and sit myself up. Al was still fending them off, driving them against the Willow and her branches." He frowned. "Then I saw the Curse. It moved fast, like the blink of an eye—but it went slow too, like molasses on a January morning." His lips quivered as he shook his head. "There was nothing I could do."

McGonagall patted his shoulder. "You needn't carry on, Aberforth. We all know you –"

Aberforth shrugged her off as he collected himself. "It hit him in the head." He crashed a fist down onto the table, making everyone jump. "In the _head_! My brother!"

Snape hurried to Aberforth, but just as he had done to McGonagall, the old wizard dismissed him. Snape returned to his seat, jaw clenched.

"Where's his body?" Mrs. Weasley asked. Without looking, Harry knew her cheeks were flooded with tears.

"The seventh floor. His office," said McGonagall with a quiet sniff. "Fawkes saw to it."

Harry swallowed. Dumbledore, dead. "What are we going to do?" He hadn't meant to say it aloud, but realized he had when everyone turned to look at him.

"Our winning this war was never contingent on Dumbledore's presence," McGonagall said, pulling a handkerchief from her sleeve and wiping her eyes. "However, I won't deny that his death is a terrible blow, that it weakens us."

Moody growled. "Albus'd never stand for that kind of talk!" Harry's head jerked in silent agreement.

"I won't sugarcoat our situation, Alastor!"

"I'm not askin' you to, Minnie, but that defeatist nonsense'll get us killed, or worse—make us slaves in Voldemort's new wizardin' society!" He cast a quick glance at Harry, and in a quiet tone Harry wouldn't have believed the man capable of, said: "I think we all know how this is s'posed to play out."

No one moved or spoke until Snape's drawl cut through the quiet like an arctic blast: "What exactly do you mean by 'we all know how this is supposed to play out'?"

Years in magical law enforcement had soured Alastor Moody's goodwill for the world and her inhabitants. His outlook had left him friendless and ferreting for evil in discarded corncobs, but he saw it as no great loss; he had always had little use for people. It was what made him efficient at identifying and catching criminals—like Snape.

Years ago Dumbledore had shared stories with him about Snape's childhood, stories that explained the Potions master's poisonous personality, but they did nothing to blunt Moody's intense dislike of the man. He'd had a similar upbringing, but instead of becoming a monster, he chose to fight them, which explained why he never trucked with Dumbledore's wholesale support of Snape. He thought the Potions master's stretch as a Death Eater unforgivable—not only because Moody knew nearly as much about Dark Magic as Voldemort did, which meant he knew that Snape would never be free of Voldemort until the old lizard was well and truly dead—but because he had seen Snape in action in the first war. He didn't trust the man, not even to pass him a tissue if he sneezed.

He didn't care about the information Snape had provided in the first war or the one playing out now. Nor did he care about the man's pissy attitude as they discussed sending Harry into battle. This was hardly the time for sentimental claptrap. It was live-or-die time, and in war, you didn't bring a Squib to a wandfight. It wasn't that he wanted to push the boy into battle, but from what Dumbledore had told him, no one had an inkling of the true depth of Harry's power. In fact, Dumbledore had believed him to be more powerful than himself. That right there was proof enough for Moody that Harry could slay Voldemort with a cough—that's if Snape loosened his grip on the apron strings a bit.

"You know exactly what I mean, Snape. You know it, Minnie knows it—every goddamn-body in this room knows it!"

McGonagall's eyes flashed behind her square spectacles. "Just so we're clear, Alastor, you will address me as Professor McGonagall, Minerva, or Headmistress. Understand?"

Moody's magical eye began spinning furiously. As Head Auror during the first war with Voldemort he was used to speaking bluntly and having the last word, but with Dumbledore dead, McGonagall sat at the top of the pecking order within these walls. Once his eye stilled, he jerked his head in a nod.

McGonagall gave a curt nod back, then turned to Snape. "Now, Severus, you may not like what Alastor said –"

Snape laughed, a dry, humorless bark. "It is not a question of _like_, Minerva. He is suggesting I send Harry outside, have him expose his throat to the Dark Lord like a chicken on a chopping block."

"Yes, Severus, I know."

"Oh... And _naturally_ you agree."

McGonagall sighed, exasperated. "We've suffered devastating losses, Severus, and while everything we've done to protect the castle has held out thus far, we cannot keep this up forever. We'll fight to the last man, of course, but before this is over… we will need Harry."

"Well, you are completely out of your tree, _Headmistress_, if you think I will allow that!" Snape hissed. "Their side has suffered massive losses, too!"

"Aye," Cash Proudfoot said, "but it's like Minerva says, we're going to need help finishing them off."

"What's the news from the Ministry?" Hermione asked. "Surely the Department of Magical Law Enforcement –"

"The Ministry came under attack at the same time we did," said McGonagall. She looked down toward the end of the table. "Molly's clock…"

As Ron rested a hand on his mother's shoulder, the image of the grandfather clock with nine golden hands came to Harry.

"Percy and Arthur were in mortal peril even before the floo flashed red, I – The clock is back at the Burrow, so I don't –"

"Hush, Mum," Ginny said.

"So there's no help coming, from anywhere?" Hermione asked, eyes searching McGonagall's.

"As Alastor said, we all knew it would come to this and there's naught for it now."

"I'm going out there," Harry said. Everyone turned to look at him, surprised, as if they had forgotten he was in the room.

"No, you are not," Snape replied flatly.

"Sir –"

"NO!" Snape shot up out of his chair and kicked it, hard enough to snap off one of its legs. He turned his back on Harry and moved away. Harry followed.

"Sir, if I don't, he'll destroy us all."

Snape wheeled around to face him. "And what can you do alone? What do you think _you_ can do that hundreds of wizards haven't been doing all night?"

"I can –"

"Harry, _shut_ up! I will not listen to nonsense!"

"Snape," said Proudfoot, a virtual stranger to nearly everyone in the room, "hear the boy out."

Snape turned. "Proudfoot, is it?" The Auror dipped his chin, wary as Snape stalked towards him. "Well listen good, Proudfoot—I am having a conversation with my son, a boy you never laid eyes on until minutes ago. I beg you, interrupt me again and I will slay you where you sit!"

The room exploded in a panic when Snape drew on the man. Desperate to put space between himself and Snape's wand—which was pointed at his heart—Proudfoot toppled out of his chair and knocked into Sprout.

"What are you doing?" Harry grabbed Snape's arm. When Snape held his aim, Harry moved to try and block Snape's view of Proudfoot.

Moody growled. "Use your head, Snape."

"Shut up, you rotted, demented, old –" Snape targeted Moody, who uttered a raspy chuckle, but didn't draw his wand.

"Go on then, Snape," he said, a strange smile at his lips. "Show'em who you really are. Do what I know you've done dozens of times without even blinking. C'mon now... You know the words – _Avada _–"

Moody's head snapped back when Snape's fist bashed the underside of his chin. Moody staggered backward, arms flailing, his wooden leg clunking against the flagstone. Ron moved to stop the man's momentum, getting behind him and catching the old Auror under the arms, but Moody pulled free from Ron's hold and put a hand to his mouth; he laughed. Snape made to rush at him, again.

"Severus!" McGonagall dashed around the table to stand between the two men. "Stop this! We are all on the same side!"

"No, Minerva! You're as mad as this doxy-bitten pile of thestral droppings –" he sneered at Moody "– if you think for one second that I am going to let Harry go –"

"Severus, sit down," said a deep voice tinged with a Welsh lilt. Snape looked up into the face of the black-haired Auror. He had wavy black hair, intelligent gray eyes, four-day old growth sprouting from chiseled cheeks, and he had a hold of Snape's elbow.

"Who are you?" Snape tried to jerk his arm from the man's grip.

"Name's Savage."

Before Snape could say something cutting, Harry removed the Auror's hand from Snape's elbow and said, "Thanks. I've got him." Savage raised his hands and nodded. He stepped back, but kept his eyes on Snape who was eyeing him as if he wanted to skin him.

Harry touched Snape's cheek to get his attention. "I know you don't want me to do this, but you know I can. At least I can try. If I don't, all those people that fought and died tonight—Dumbledore, Parvati, Megan... Who am I not to do my part?"

"Listen to the boy, Snape," Moody muttered. "He's got more bollocks than some of the so-called men in –"

"SHUT UP!" Snape drew his wand on Moody, again.

Harry held up his hands to ward Snape off. "Leave him out of this! You and me, remember? You were talking to me!"

"Severus…" said Draco. At the concerned sound of the boy's voice, tension slowly bled out of Snape's arm and his wand wavered. After a moment he lowered it.

"Thank, Merlin!" Someone muttered.

Harry looked at Snape. He hated it, but he had to make the man understand: "Don't fight me on this. You won't win."

Snape's expression shuttered. He eyed Harry as if offended by the sight of him. "Typical. The spitting image of James Potter in looks and spirit. Never thinking farther than the nose on your face. Arrogant, _stupid_, boy. Reckless, pig-headed, impossible –"

"Yeah, but you knew all that when you adopted me."

Snape leaned forward and jabbed a finger in Harry's face. "Don't get cheeky, don't you fucking dare!"

Harry bit back a flare of frustration. They could go round and round like this for days, Snape flogging him with insults, miring him down in a pointless, circular argument where no one won. So, he turned to McGonagall.

"We need a plan," he said. He sighed and tried not to overbalance when Snape blustered past him.

"Too right," said Moody as Snape exited the room, slamming the door. "No offense, Potter, but he's just a little too wrapped up in playing daddy to think rationally about this…"

Harry ignored him. Instead, he watched Draco move toward the door. When their eyes met the Slytherin nodded before following Snape out. Harry knew he would try to get the man to rejoin them. He hoped Snape would, because as much as he despised Moody for the things the man had said, Harry despised himself even more for what he'd said. Snape's words had been hurtful, but Harry knew the man had been speaking out of fear.

"…launch a strong air assault from the Astronomy Tower using whatever we can get our hands on, be it brooms, hippogriffs, or thestrals," Moody said, in full battle-planning mode, magical eye spinning.

"_They're_ using the thestrals," Flitwick said.

"Aye, but thestrals have no allegiance, save to the one with a helping of meat," said the other nameless Auror.

"Well then we need some meat, Williamson," Moody growled. "Voldemort's riffraff can't have used every one of'em. We've got to give Potter all the help we can."

"Well said, Alastor," said McGonagall, clearly more at ease with planning to aid Harry than sending him out like a lamb to slaughter.

Proudfoot spoke next. He was still a bit peaky around the edges, but Harry admired him for speaking up, especially after the way Snape had lit into him. He understood the Auror had only said what most everyone else had been thinking.

"They've got strengths—the winged catapults, werewolves, but they've a number of weaknesses, too." Proudfoot held up a thumb. "Those catapults aren't incredibly mobile. Since setting them up two hours ago they've done loads of damage to Ravenclaw and the West Tower, but it seems that's the limit of their capabilities." His index finger went up. "Minerva, you mentioned the Adar Llwch Gwin. Well, I don't think the Death Eaters have control of them anymore. I figure the elder must be dead and one of You-Know-Who's crew did it. I saw those things wipe out a score of white masks as I was fighting my way up here. Somehow those beasts know who's who out there."

"Hermione, you've read up on them," Ron said. "Couldn't you get control of 'em now that they've turned on You-Know-Who's people?"

"I don't know. If the elder is dead, I'd have to gauge who the new one is. That would be really tricky, and it might take ages, especially in the middle of everything."

"If anyone can, you can," said Harry.

Hermione blushed. "I'm willing to try, of course, but I shouldn't like to do it alone."

"You won't," said Savage.

McGonagall nodded at the man approvingly. "What else? What other weaknesses?"

"A number of their key lieutenants are dead," said Flitwick. "Yaxley, the Lestranges, Malfoy –"

"Malfoy's not dead," said Harry.

"What?" Snape. He and Draco had reentered the room.

"Draco and I ran into him in the dungeons," Harry said.

"He was torturing Longbottom," said Draco quietly.

"_Torturing _Longbottom?" McGonagall's black eyes narrowed to slits.

After six years, Harry was fairly familiar with what sorts of things infuriated McGonagall: rule-breaking, shoddy Transfigurations, catnip jokes, Sibyll Trelawney. And having often been the cause of it from time to time, he had seen his Head of House livid before; however, just now, she looked as if she wanted to castrate Lucius with her teeth-one Pure-blood bollock at a time.

"The Headmaster –" Harry swallowed. "He said something before he – I think the Lucius we saw killed on the grounds was really Mundungus Fletcher, polyjuiced." He looked at Draco, who stood rigid, his face flushed with shame. While in the passage, he had told Harry, "I should have known it wasn't him. He would _never _lead a charge into battle!"

"Mundungus?" McGonagall frowned and put a hand to her mouth. "What of Malfoy, then?"

"I bound him, left him in the corridor."

"No," Hermione said. "I just came from the Slytherin common room."

"What were you doing down there?" Ron asked.

"I – Well, Theo – he told me how to get to it, ages ago." Color rose in her cheeks as Harry raised his eyebrows. "I was worried. Neville sent a Patronus. When I got there, he, Blaise and Th-Theo had gone. Goyle and Pansy were left to watch the littlest ones."

"Filius," said McGonagall, "cast a _Locator _spell. See if Malfoy is still in the castle. I loathe the thought of him roaming about at will!"

"It will take some time," said Flitwick.

"Yes, but I can't have that man in here. If he hasn't already, he's liable to let in a flood of You-Know-Who's people."

"As you wish, Headmistress." Flitwick jumped down from his chair and left the room.

"We have something else on our side," Ron said.

"Go on, Mr. Weasley," said McGonagall.

"Dawn. He won't have the werewolves once the sun rises."

"Which means he's likely to strike hard, and soon," said Harry.

"Yeah, but, if we can hold out 'til then…"

"Dawn's at least four hours away, Ron," Ginny said. "And who's to say he won't have something worse than the werewolves when the sun rises?"

"Excellent point, Miss Weasley. As such, we must plan for both scenarios." McGonagall clapped her hands together. "Let us do so, and quickly. This stalemate we're experiencing will likely come to an end soon."

*WO

**Staff Room, Ground Floor, Hogwarts** **…**_**2:00 a.m.**_

Snape watched Hermione and Ron encircle Harry. Now and then, Hermione leaned her head back to talk to him before resting her forehead against his chest; Ron brought his hand up to rub and squeeze Harry's neck and shoulder as Harry nodded and buried his face in Hermione's hair, his lips moving in response to whatever they were saying to him.

Squinting his eyes just so, Snape saw them as they had been at the end of their first year. They looked painfully young and vulnerable. Especially Harry.

But they weren't wide-eyed, know-nothing first-years anymore. Ron and Harry's voices had deepened, no longer the boyish squeaks of eleven year-olds, and they had shot up—Ron more than Harry, of course. Hermione, though still bookish and bossy, had blossomed into an exquisite young woman, and in the six years that she and the boys had been at Hogwarts, they had seen and done things witches and wizards half their age could never imagine.

Snape wondered if this would be the last time they held one another. In the chaos after the attack on the pitch, he had seen sixth-year Ravenclaw, Morag MacDougal, incinerated by a Death Eater. Recognizing Thorfinn Rowle's sloppy, undisciplined wandwork, Snape had coldly returned the favor. Morag, a rather plain-faced girl, had been in his quarters last week, giggling and gossiping with Hermione about her first date with some Hufflepuff. She'd had an extraordinary knack for Potions, as well. Ever the realist, Snape knew that Harry, Hermione, and Ron all surviving this battle unrealistic.

He waited. When Harry finally looked over at him, Snape gestured for him to follow. He moved close to the boggarty wardrobe, away from the others who were all leaning over the center of the table looking at a map of Hogwarts and the grounds.

Before Snape could launch into his refusal to allow him to go outside Harry said, "Do you remember at Soth-ince, what you said when I asked why you were pushing me so hard? It was the day I splinched Fang's ear… Remember?"

"Yes," Snape muttered, irked that Harry was about to throw his own words back in his face.

"You said, in fair weather prepare for foul."

"Harry –"

"I can do this; I _have_ to do this."

"No, you don't!" Snape's bellow echoed. Those gathered around the table raised their heads to look at him; Snape glared until they turned back to the map.

"Let him go," said Draco.

Snape's eyebrows shifted in angry surprise as he looked at the boy. They rose even higher when Draco stepped over to stand next to Harry.

Snape wanted to scream. Long and loud, like an infant, all flailing limbs and red-faced fury. The sound actually jettisoned its way up into his throat and pushed at his lips, seeking an out, but he choked it back. He then closed his eyes against the ache that had been lurking behind his left eye since returning to the Entrance Hall to find Harry and Draco gone. As it began to uncoil, it travelled, sizzling like a firebrand through his brain. But he could handle it, this pain; it was nothing, simply a minor, physical inconvenience.

However, just the_ notion_ of losing Harry felt otherworldly and raw, like being stranded naked in the wilds of Siberia. He was already fraying to bits under the boy's rebelliousness, which hurt worse than any Cruciatus Voldemort had ever meted out. For that reason, Snape didn't give a shit that he was being completely selfish. He wanted what he wanted because thistime, it was _Harry_—headstrong, independent, hopelessly self-sacrificing Harry—his son on offer for sacrifice. And fuck it all, no one in the room was on his side, not even Molly Weasley who was as yet unable to account for the rest of her sons. Were they wounded? Being held hostage? Were they even _alive_?

Snape knew most people thought his existence dark and empty, but over thirty-seven years a modest cadre of people had provided him fleeting moments of happiness: his mother, Lily, his lover. But those moments had ended, and always in an unexpectedly cruel manner. While he never put much stock in Karma, he did have a sense of the world leveling the field at times, and if the leveling depended on right and wrong, he admittedly had some squaring up to do.

Perhaps now the Universe sought to exact a perfect balance.

If so, Snape burned at the injustice of it because, in his mind—though he had hurt people, even killed—losing Harry would be the great equalizer. And if after losing Harry, Snape lived a thousand years and slew a world of people, his column of Rights would still far outweigh his Wrongs. He had done everything in his power to protect Harry and for once, he _deserved_. Not that he deserved Harry—he knew he didn't—but he deserved Harry's survival. Karma could blame him for those other failures, for not being able to safeguard his mum, Lily, his lover. But not Harry.

Snape looked down at him, dark eyes tracing the deeply lined flesh around the boy's eyes, lines that looked completely out of place on that sixteen year-old face, framed by that hopeless shock of black hair. Harry looked back, solemn as he awaited the man's blessing.

Snape shook his head. _No. No. No. _

Harry opened his mouth to protest but it was lost when the door was flung open; Moody had a curse in the air before it stopped moving.

"_Protego!_" Dennis Creevey shouted, sending the curse skyward and causing bits of the ceiling to explode down onto the map.

"Creevey!" McGonagall shrieked. Coughing, she swept her wand around, clearing the mess.

"You bumblin' little pissant!" Moody stumped across the floor to snag Dennis's collar. "I could'a taken your fool head clean off!"

"Sorry, old man," Dennis said, breathless as he wriggled free of Moody's grip. "Professor McGonagall, ma'am, Sir Iacchus sent a message. He says the Death Eaters are breaking through. He doesn't know how much longer he and the others can keep them out, says he's lost half his force."

McGonagall straightened and looked around. "Plan B it is," she said. "Granger, Savage, see to the Adar Llwch Gwin; Molly, Ginny, up to Gryffindor; Pomona, collect Sibyll from her tower and bring her to the library—Madam Pince will have her instructions; Proudfoot and Williamson, to Hogsmeade; contact Flume and Rosmerta. Perhaps they've word from someone at the Ministry… or even something from Olympe. If so, send a Patronus, then await –" She sought out Moody. "Alastor, Dawlish is still at the Shrieking Shack?"

"Aye."

"Then, Proudfoot, await Dawlish's signal. Severus…"

Snape shot her a cold glare.

"We need you, Severus."

"I'm prepared to do anything, Minerva. But leave Harry out of it."

"Dad! You can't –"

"Yes, all right," McGonagall said. When Snape, looking slightly stunned, dipped his chin, she nodded back, eyes soft with understanding. She inhaled deeply. "Alastor, you're with me." She turned to the painting behind her of a wizard with a walrus mustache: "Caradog, sound the alarm!"

"Right away, Headmistress!" he said and disappeared from his portrait.

*WO

**Entrance Hall, ****Hogwarts**** …**_**2:07 a.m.**_

Chaos.

People who had just arrived from outside lay sprawled on the floor of the Entrance Hall, or leaned against the wall, gasping and groaning. Others dashed about, banging into one another in a rush to get to their positions elsewhere in the castle; the staircases sped things along, shifting bodies from floor to floor. Figures flitted in and out of portraits, shuttling instructions, and the constant _crack_ of house-elf Apparition popped like fireworks as they handed out goblets of water.

An influx of wounded had created a bottleneck at the Great Hall's entrance. Snape stood near the front with an arm around a teetering Aberforth; Harry watched until they disappeared inside. Looking back toward the stairs, he spotted Hermione hand in hand with Savage. She threw him a wave just before the staircase they were on shifted them out of sight. Ron and Draco had been cornered by Charity Burbage near the staffroom; grimy and battle-worn, Fred and George stood alongside them, fidgeting as they listened to the soft-spoken witch. Fred caught Harry's eye and grinned. He waved for Harry to join them.

As he started over, the Entrance Hall doors slammed shut with an explosive boom. The snake-like series of locks rattling home followed, securing the enormous doors further.

"Harry!" Snape was bulldozing his way back through the wall of folks still stoppering the Great Hall's entrance. Harry turned. The second their eyes met, he collapsed to his knees.

His scar. Gods! It hadn't hurt like this since that night in the graveyard when Voldemort touched it. It felt as if someone had taken a chisel and mallet to his forehead. He leaned forward and vomited at a sharp spike of pain. With his head hanging nearly to the floor, he missed seeing the entrance door burst open with a _BANG_. The force of it blew out torches and splintered the doors, sending bits of wood flying.

"Harry!" Snape yelled. "Move!" He growled, thrashing his way through the crowd, but then he gave a surprised grunt when he ran into something. After taking a second to recover, he moved forward, again, only to be stymied, again. Frowning, he brought his hands up and pushed.

A barrier. Invisible. And it didn't yield. He aimed his wand at it.

"_Deprimo!_"

Instead of blasting the barrier to bits, or even rebounding on the people crouched and screaming around him, the barrier absorbed the spell. He tried another with the same result. Infuriated, he bellowed out another, and another, each more powerful than last, but like a desert-dry sponge, the barrier absorbed everything he threw at it.

And still Harry crouched, gasping and sick.

"Harry!" Ron.

Harry angled his head to look at him. Ron had his hands up, pushing at the air, just as Snape had. The barrier had sealed off the right and left sides of the Entrance Hall, parting it down the middle, putting Harry smack within a narrow corridor that ranged the width of the Entrance Hall doors. Sixty feet separated the two sides, with Harry in between.

"What's doing this?" Ron demanded. "Are you doing this? Is _You-Know-Who_ doing this? Just what the hell is going on, Harry?"

Harry shook his head, more as a way to quell the pain than to answer Ron—but _was_ he doing this? He swallowed against another wave of nausea. As he inhaled, trying to staunch the urge to vomit again, a voice filtered in from outside, sounding as though an echo had travelled up from the guts of Hell.

"Harry Potter."

That voice had been part of the soundtrack of Harry's nightmares for years: "_Stand aside. Stand aside, girl!"_

Harry rubbed at his scar, anticipating the burning throb that usually accompanied those words—but the pain had gone. He rubbed at it, again. Still gone.

He slowly got to his feet, but kept his eyes closed. If he opened them, he feared the pain might return, plus Snape was still calling to him, in an absolute panic. Doing his best to ignore him, Harry started toward the entrance.

"Harry? Harry! _Damn it_, look at me!"

Harry slit his left eye open. In his peripheral vision he saw Snape shoving people out of the way as he followed Harry's path, pressing his body against the barrier, as if to make it give way beneath his weight. But it didn't, so Harry kept moving.

Snape fumed. Magic wasn't working, and reason wasn't working, so he tried something else. Harry's eyes flew open and he stumbled at the blow of Snape forcing himself into his mind—but he had become a fairly accomplished Occlumens, thanks to Snape. Snape's groan at the pain of being thrown out so abruptly made Harry's heart clench, but he kept stepping toward the entrance.

Snape went mad.

"No! No! NO! Harry! Don't you – Don't you dare! Har –" He began to ram the barrier with his body, a rabid, relentless battering that had everyone around him goggling at him in shock.

Snape's frantic cries hurt worse than his scar ever had, but Harry tuned him out. He had to go outside, even as other voices appealed to him, too:

"Bloody hell, Harry!" Ron.

"Potter!" Draco.

"Harry, don't do this!" Fred. Or George. Or both.

"HARRYYYY!"

"Professor, stop it! Your hands…"

"Don't touch me! Get off me! Harry! _HARRY!_"

Mercifully, Snape's voice faded to nothing the moment Harry stepped outside.

*WO


	30. Chapter 30

**A/N**: To quote Chuck Shurley from the Swan Song episode of Supernatural: "Endings are hard. Any chapped-ass monkey with a keyboard can poop out a beginning, but endings are impossible. You try to tie up every loose end, but you never can."

With that in mind, here is the end to this story. ~Ruth7019

**_This chapter contains a line from _****True Grit, _by_ _Charles Portis_.***

Disclaimer: JK Rowling's characters.

**Harry Potter and Lord Voldemort**

Silence. Bizarre in the midst of a battle. But once Harry looked out at the courtyard, he understood the odd hush.

His heart sank.

Voldemort's army loomed over rows and rows of kneeling witches and wizards, wands digging into their captives' throats, heads, and backs. In the first few rows Harry saw Angelina Johnson, Anthony Goldstein, Cho Chang, and Seamus. Madam Hooch and Ossie, the Glass Hoof's Watchman, knelt alongside strangers, some wearing brown Aurors robes, all looking bloodied and defeated.

Voldemort strode into the center, his back to Harry, his slick, gray head moving side to side as he admired the view.

Some in the crowd gawked at him, faces numb with wonder and disbelief; everyone else's twisted with hate and revulsion. Dennis Creevey fell into the second camp. Eyeing Voldemort's sparkling silver robes, Dennis had an idea. He knew it would likely be his last, but with the dark wizard standing so close, he felt he had no choice.

The sound of the boy gathering phlegm in his throat then letting it fly rang like an atomic blast in the unnatural quiet. Everyone heard it; they also heard him huff, disgusted at having missed his target. Gasps and barks of laughter ricocheted around the courtyard. Voldemort's self-satisfied smile had vanished. He turned to stare down at Dennis, scarlet eyes mapping the boy's grimy face.

No fear. The little fool showed no fear. Well, that was fixable. Voldemort raised his hand and touched the tip of his wand to Dennis's cheek. The defiant light in the young Gryffindor's eyes died in a green flash and the boy keeled over. His head made a blunt thudding noise as it hit the ground.

"WHY?" Harry screamed. "_WHY?_"

Voldemort tilted his chin toward the sky. He closed his eyes and sniffed at the air, thrusting his head forward, rolling it in a semi-circle as he inhaled. The sound and movement was obscene, like a maggot wriggling within rotting flesh. He turned slowly, lips stretching into a serpentine smile once Harry came into sight.

"Harry Potter… We meet again."

*WO

**The Great Hall, Hogwarts**** _…2:10 a.m._**

Snape dashed through the Great Hall, heading for the antechamber. With each step he berated himself, his mind morbidly ticking through the list of tortures Voldemort might be inflicting on Harry—yet if something had happened to Harry, he would know; if Voldemort dared_ touch_ Harry, Snape would feel it in his bones.

"_Lumos!"_ He growled, frightening the witches and wizards in their paintings as he burst into the antechamber.

The room looked as if it hadn't been used since Harry's fourth year. Dust shrouded the furniture, the fireplace sat cold and black, but the _scritch scritch _of mice scurrying to hide meant the room hadn't been entirely deserted. Snape remembered the night the Triwizard champions' names came out of the goblet; he remembered following Dumbledore and McGonagall through a hidden passage up to the headmaster's office after Karkaroff and Madame Maxime left the antechamber in a huff with their students, but he couldn't recall where the passage was. He began kicking the walls, testing for a weak point. And though his hands were a pained, mottled mess (thanks to the barrier), he used his fists as well.

"You there, making all that racket!" came a voice from the wall. "This is not a whistle stop! You people can't keep banging in and out of here as you please!"

"Who else has been through here?" Snape demanded.

"Two boys blazed through a while ago, one dark, one light, and with not a word of greeting!" Another feminine voice complained.

"I'm trying to get to the dark one," Snape said, swinging his wandlight in the direction of the last voice he'd heard. "Tell me, where did they come through?"

"Why the passage, of course," said the wizened, pale old witch in the painting hanging at the fireplace's edge.

Snape growled. "Yes, but where is it?"

"Tisn't for everyone to know, now is it?"

"Not for every – Look, I need to get out of here! You do know what's going on, don't you? You do know that we're at _war_?"

The witch sniffed. "Of course, young man! All the more reason to be cautious!"

"I'm a teacher here!" Snape sputtered.

"Oh?"

"Ah, yes. Yes, Violet, he is. I recognize him now. That hooked-nose, foul demeanor… Snape, isn't it?"

Snape advanced on the witch called Violet, his expression dark and deadly. Violet shrank back, quivering—a thin hand at her bosom, the other flopping up to her forehead in a dramatic arc.

"The boys that came through here are my sons, Harry and Draco. Harry is in danger. Tell me how to get out of here! Now!"

*WO

**Dumbledore's Office, Hogwarts****_ …2:28 a.m._**

Dumbledore's body still lay on the red high backed sofa when McGonagall and Moody entered the room. His eyes were closed; his wand lay placid in his open palm; a mound of silvery ashes sat upon his chest. Fawkes. McGonagall had last seen the phoenix perched on Dumbledore's arm, his orange-gold head resting against the man's right temple. Tears flowed like liquid pearls onto what McGonagall imagined was the kill spot—but there was no healing. Dumbledore was dead. Dilys Derwent and Dexter Fortescue were still sobbing, but Phineas Nigellus Black couldn't stop staring at Dumbledore's body, his head shifting minutely back and forth in a restless denial.

Moody stumped across the floor to stand next to the sofa. Groaning, he leaned over. He grasped the sofa's edge to get down on his good knee, then laid a hand on Dumbledore's shoulder. "Damn fool," he whispered gruffly. "Damn fool!" He shook the headmaster, upsetting some of Fawkes' ashes.

"Alastor!" said McGonagall sharply.

"You know, Snape could say water was wet and I'd curse him a liar, but he's right about Potter. Gryffindors, damn impulsive fools, the lot of you…"

"Perhaps, but I recall Albus having to speak with Headmaster Dippet countless times on your behalf in our fifth year. You were constantly caught out of Ravenclaw after curfew, tailing Tom Riddle because 'he smelled evil', you said."

"Yeah, and I was bloody well right about him in the end, wasn't I?"

"Quite, but Dumbledore knew what he was doing, better than anyone. Now it's time for us to do our bit, to make sure his sacrifice isn't in vain."

"Yeah." Moody ran a hand under his nose and the heel of his palm over his eyes, then grunted loudly to cover his sniffles as he shifted to rise. "Yeah it is. Now, where're those brooms, Headmistress?"

*WO

**Staircase to Entrance Hall, ****Hogwarts**** …_2:30 a.m._**

Voldemort's eyes never wavered from Harry's, even as the man _flew _to the foot of the staircase. Without a broom.

_Are you ready to die, Harry?_

Harry winced; Voldemort was pricking at the edges of his brain, in Parsletongue. The temptation to open his mind, to respond to a language that came to him as naturally as English staggered Harry, but he wasn't the same undisciplined boy he was a year ago; now he Occluded and booted the red-eyed devil out.

"Oh, bravo!" Voldemort taunted aloud. He began ascending the staircase, walking now, floating up the steps, like some sort of snake-faced beauty queen, robes riffling behind him like liquid silver. "Seems you've learned a thing or two in our time apart."

"Dennis was fourteen!"

"Old enough to know better."

"You fucking lowlife." Harry's voice broke.

Voldemort wrangled his lips into a sneer. "All this time spent in Severus's company, yet you remain the same unschooled, ill-mannered nothing you were that night in the graveyard."

"Some don't mind it."

"Oh, but I do. You are at _my_ mercy at the moment, and as such, I believe I'm due a bit of respect."

"Keep believing that."

Voldemort's eyes narrowed as he continued his slow glide up the steps. "Such bold speech, even after I have bested you and your…followers. Now the wizarding world will be as nature intended. Picture it Potter: No more diseased ignorance poisoning our world; no more Half-bloods, no more Mudbloods."

"Brilliant plan, what with all the inbreeding, but you must know that witches and wizards will still be born to people who aren't magical."

"Sadly, yes, but without guidance, that deviation will snuff itself out after a generation."

"Not with people like my dad around to teach them."

Voldemort came to a stop in front of Harry. "Potter, the second Severus reveals himself, I will end him." He laughed. "Oh, that pissy scowl is wonderfully familiar; seems my Severus has made rather an impression on you after all."

"Yours? He was never yours."

Voldemort winked lewdly, long spidery fingers caressing his wand. "Oh, but he was, my boy, believe me he was."

Harry puzzled over the man's meaning, then noting the nasty glint in the dark wizard's eyes, Harry said, "You're a liar and you're disgusting. He would never…" He swallowed. "Not with the likes of you!"

"Oh, grow up, Potter! You'll soon learn it costs dearly to be counted among my ranks—or rather, your little friends will…" Voldemort rolled his eyes as Harry glared at him, face red with rage. "Really boy, don't you find this disdain for me tiresome? If you can forgive Severus for telling me of the prophecy's existence, surely you can muster up a bit of forgiveness for me as well. As you recall, I was willing to spare your mother..."

"Forgiveness? You serious?"

"It strikes me as the sort of simple-minded claptrap Dumbledore might have pushed on you as a means to defeat me."

"Not to hurt your feelings, but you weren't always the topic of our conversations."

Voldemort laughed, inadvertently charmed by Harry's grit. "Yes, Dumbledore always had little regard for my beliefs, but I must say, growing up, I had rather a lot for his—those he held in his younger years, that is. Little history lesson, Potter: Dumbledore was a trailblazer—he and Gellert Grindelwald. Like me, they supported wizard supremacy over Muggles. 'For the Greater Good' was their motto. Catchy, but too noncommittal, too polite; I say if you mean to rule the world it's best to be absolute, in word and in deed."

Voldemort smiled as Harry tried, and failed not to look confused. That Dumbledore and Grindelwald had known one another did not surprise him—Aberforth had mentioned as much the night he and Snape arrived at the Hog's Head last summer, but he hadn't said anything about them sharing wizard supremacist views.

"Shocked, Potter? Surprised to learn your dear Dumbledore was hardly the beacon of light he fashioned himself to be? That he was not the paragon of perfection and virtue many have been hoodwinked into believing? Oh, don't judge him too harshly. See, he didn't become _that _Dumbledore until _after_ he killed his younger sister."

"You lie! He never killed – He didn't have a sister!"

"Forgive me, perhaps my choice of words was a bit…inflammatory, but he did have a sister. A delicate, blond poppet called Ariana… There was an argument at the family home, a bit of chaos, so no one really knows whose curse killed her, but he was there, in the mix." Voldemort sighed. "Pity, if we had the time, perhaps Dumbledore's brother could share the family shame with you. It's a rather enlightening tale, darkly entertaining in its irony. Jealousy, mental illness, Azkaban…"

"God, do you ever say anything remotely resembling the truth?"

"I gain nothing by sullying Dumbledore's memory, Potter. History will judge him. It will expose him for what he was: a purist and a fraud."

Voldemort was lying. He had to be. But at Christmas, Aberforth_ had_ said his father had been sent to Azkaban...

"I'm not stupid," Harry said, "I know Dumbledore wasn't perfect, but if he did believe wizards were superior over Muggles, he would never have tried to prove his point like this." Harry stabbed a finger at the courtyard. "You're cruel and petty because that's the only way you know how to get people to do what you want."

"I wanted Dumbledore dead; that's done. I wanted you under my thumb; that too is done. I've taken over the Ministry; I've even got a man in the _Muggle_ Ministry. I'll soon hold as much of Muggle Britain in the palm of my hand as I do of wizarding Britain, Potter."

Damn. Had they lost before the war had truly begun? Harry wondered. Then he thought of McGonagall ordering those Aurors to the village. "You don't have Hogsmeade," he blurted.

Voldemort dragged a hand down his arm, smoothing the silver brocade of his robe. "And why would I want that ruin?"

"Who says it's a ruin?"

*WO

**Entrance Hall, Hogwarts**** …_2:42 a.m._**

Draco had shouted and banged his hands against the barrier, trying to get Snape's attention before the man disappeared into the Great Hall, but Snape had moved through the crowd like a reaper, flattening anyone brainless enough to get in his way. As Ron, George, and Fred argued, Draco wondered if the man knew about the hidden passage in the antechamber.

"That's how Harry got up here from the dungeons, you deaf git! I told you he said there was a passage! Tell him Malfoy!"

"Little brother, call me a git again and –"

"Damn it, both of you, shut up!" George growled. "We need to get outside! We can't get past that barrier thingy, so we need another way. Fred and I know this castle like the back of our hands, even without the ma –"

Fred pinched his twin's arm making him yowl; George boxed Fred in the ear as Fred cast a look at Draco.

Draco rolled his eyes. "If you're talking about that map, I know all about it." They all stared at him as if they didn't believe him. "_I solemnly swear that I am up to no good_…" he said.

"How?" Ron stuttered.

Draco's lips thinned in annoyance. "Potter and I share a room, remember? Not to mention we used it to check for the professor the nights he was gone from the castle."

"Whatever…" Ron said, shaking his head. "I reckon we need it now. Oy! We can check it to see how the battle's going!"

Fred clapped his hands enthusiastically, then pitched his voice as if he were speaking to a toddler. "Brilliant, brother-of-mine! Now, explain how we're s'posed to get down to the dungeons. Barrier out there, remember?"

When Ron scowled and opened his mouth to retort, Draco called out: "Dobby!"

Dobby appeared with a _crack_. "Yes, Young Malfoy, sir!"

Screams rang out at the sight of the house-elf. "Oh my god!" A girl squeaked. "What's wrong with it? Do you think He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named sent it?"

"Shut up, you daft cow!" Someone muttered.

Ron fell to his knees to take hold of one of the elf's hands. "Dobby, are you all right? Is that blood?"

Dobby had on his Hogwarts tea towel, as usual, but the front was tacky and stiff with something red. His face was grim, and oddly, he had an elf-sized bow in hand and a quiver full of arrows slung over his shoulder. "Dobby's just come from the roof with other house-elves and Master Firenze," he said. "Some of us is defending the castle with pointy sticks and twangers –"

"What are you talking about, Dobby?" Fred said. "Are you hurt?" He knelt before the elf, too, but didn't touch him for fear of injuring him further if he was.

Dobby wrung his long fingers together. "No, sir, Dobby's fine. It's… It's not Dobby's blood. And, well, we wasn't allowed to tell no one about the roof, Weasley Number Four, sir."

Fred blinked. "_Weasley Number Four?_ How do you know –"

"Fred!" George snapped.

"You weren't allowed to tell what, Dobby?" Ron said. "What's happening on the roof?"

"After you all was attacked in the village, we house-elves wanted to do our part to help if He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named attacked Hogwarts, so we—well, _Dobby_ asked Professor Dumbledore what we could do. The next night Master Firenze comes to the kitchens with a plan to train us up on how to use pointy sticks and twangers –"

"Bows and arrows," Draco muttered. "Look, as fascinating as all this is, we really don't have time for it. Dobby, fetch Harry's map for us." He added as an afterthought: "Please."

Dobby's big green eyes lit up. "You mean the map that you checks to see where Harry Potter's Wheezy goes?"

Draco paled and his lips disappeared as Fred and George looked at one another then fell against each other guffawing; George straightened up to clap a red-faced Ron on the back.

"I do_ not_ check –" Draco began.

"Yes, Dobby." Ron interjected. "Get it now, please." Dobby raised his fingers to snap them together.

"Wait!" Draco yelled; Dobby's eyes diminished into slits. Four years out of Malfoy Manor offered little distance from years of Lucius's abuse—and Draco didn't simply share a striking resemblance to his father. His voice (while not as deep as Lucius's) often bore the same cold, demanding pitch, and while Draco had never touched Dobby, he hadn't been especially kind to him either. Reading that wariness in Dobby's expression, Draco—his brow furrowed in distress—said softly, "I'm not my – Merlin. F-forgive me… Dobby, please, bring Harry's Cloak as well."

Dobby dipped his head in a deep, respectful nod. No Malfoy had ever asked his forgiveness. "As you wish, Young Malfoy, sir."

*WO

**Staircase to Entrance Hall, ****Hogwarts**** …_2:45 a.m._**

Voldemort stared, weighing Harry's words. His people had all but obliterated Hogsmeade back in February—and it had been a task worth doing to his satisfaction, especially as Harry had survived the original attack. To discern what the boy knew, Voldemort tried Legilimency, again. He may as well have tried wrapping his arms around the Great Wall of China. Severus had taught the boy well.

"Nott!" He shouted.

Unmasked, Theo Nott's father dashed up the stairs. He was as handsomely built as his son, and blessed with a similar crown of chestnut curls. Once he reached Voldemort, he dropped to one knee. Looking at the elder Nott Harry wondered where Theo was. Was he all right? Had father and son already met in battle?

"Bram," said Voldemort, "take the Carrows and a few others to the village. Check every hovel and every shop for rebels that may be holed up there."

Nott frowned, puzzled, but his eyes had connected with Harry's for a flicker of a moment. To Harry the man's ignorance had looked more like panic, but when the Death Eater spoke, Harry questioned what he had seen: "My lord, after Loyd botched the raid in February I led the clean-up and cleared the village. Anyone foolish enough to have stayed behind fled. We've had no reports of anyone in the area since."

"Yet Mr. Potter believes otherwise."

Bram Nott turned his head to look at Harry full on. Save the inch-long scar near his chin and the lines creeping around his eyes and mouth, he looked so much like Theo, Harry winced. "And you believe him, lord?" He even sounded like Theo.

"Mr. Potter is famous for rather a lot, but lying is not among his many attributes." Voldemort's expression turned steely. "Now, if you find my request untenable Bram, someone more cooperative will happily take your place. However, know that if I need call on another you will find yourself at the wrong end of my wand."

Nott swallowed. "No, no, my lord. It is my honor." He backed away, head down. As he went, he glanced at Harry; Harry thought the look held a touch of concern, but it couldn't have. Could it? Once Nott reached the bottom of the stairs, he called out: "Amycus, Alecto! Away with me, now!"

Harry watched two squat figures peel away from a wall of Death Eaters to join Nott. The three took off with three more black-cloaked shapes falling in behind them. Harry paled. Maybe he shouldn't have said anything.

"Feeling all right, Potter?" Voldemort said softly, voice like a snake's caress. "Not regretting mentioning the village, are you?" He _tsked_. "You know, Dumbledore was mad to involve you in this war, forcing students into combat. Honestly, lacking a certain maturity and experience, children are simply far too untried, far too mindless to act sensibly." He crouched down to hiss into Harry's ear. "Or perhaps…it's…just…_you_."

Harry fumed. Damn it all! He'd let the man goad him into exposing the last pocket of resistance in this area—he'd set Madam Rosmerta and Flume up for death after they had gone undetected all this time. How could he have been so stupid?

Voldemort chuckled, as if reading Harry's thoughts. He then straightened up to move to the step above where Harry was standing. The man was already decisively taller than Harry, but the extra height the step provided drove the point home to an absurd degree. Perturbed, Harry looked up; Voldemort smiled down at him then stroked a finger along Harry's jaw.

Cold, hate, greed and lust shot through Harry's body like a pain. He cried out, jerking his head away from Voldemort's touch. He didn't know it, but something left him then, blinding him for a moment, obscuring the sight of Voldemort flying through air—still, he heard the pained groan when the dark wizard hit the stairs.

A noise went up from the crowd as though they had been struck a blow.*

"That's the way!" Someone shouted.

"Give'im hell, Harry!" Someone else offered.

Harry had a split second to wonder if this was how it would end, if those on their knees were going to rise up, take back Hogwarts, Hogsmeade, Britain. Then a vicious blast of wind knocked him off his feet. As he fell, crashing headfirst into the staircase's unyielding stone, Harry realized the thought had been a silly, fleeting sort of hope, a child's wish, nothing more.

*WO

**A Secret Passage, Hogwarts**_**…2:45 a.m.**_

Snape sneezed explosively as he slammed the passage door closed. He leaned against it, swiping his pocket square over his eyes and under his nose. He had survived the Dark Lord and more than a decade of teaching Potions to eleven year-olds, but dust always made him want to curl up in a ball and whimper like a lost pup. He sneezed again, and again.

"Bloody hell!" He didn't have time for this. He pushed off from the door. An instant later, he had to grab its handle to brace himself. Pain, like an incision, burned his gut. A sudden rush of fear blackened his vision and his heart seized up. The ancient handle rattled as he gripped it, fingers void of color.

He couldn't explain it, couldn't wrap his mind around the utter surety of it, but he knew—Harry had been hurt.

"_Accio _Harry's Cloak!"

*WO

**Entrance Hall, Hogwarts**** …_2:47 a.m._**

"D'you think that since Dobby was able to come here from the roof, that maybe he could Apparate us out of here, or… whatever it is they do?" Ron said.

George's eyes widened and he straightened up from his hunched position against the wall. "You might be on to something there."

Fred grinned and threw an arm around Ron's neck, then leaned in to plant a loud wet kiss on his brother's cheek. Ron scowled and shoved him away, a bit harder than he meant. Fred's mouth fell open in a comical 'o' of distress and his arms pin-wheeled as he tried to grab for Ron. Ron reached for him, but Fred was already too far gone. He stumbled backward and backward, then hit the floor, landing near the stairs to the dungeons—far outside of where the barrier had been. He looked around, surprised. "I guess Wheaties really is the breakfast of champions…" He groaned and rubbed his backside as Ron pulled him to his feet.

"Do you hear that?" Draco said.

"What?"

"Shouting. Outside. It's been as quiet as a mausoleum until now—until that barrier fell."

"So," said George.

"Potter! Something has happened to Potter!" Draco dashed toward the castle's entrance, ignoring Ron's call to wait.

*WO

**Staircase to Entrance Hall, ****Hogwarts**** …_3:15 a.m._**

Harry lay sprawled and dazed. The back of his head and neck throbbed like someone was using it for football practice. He figures he must have blacked out for a bit because now Voldemort was in the middle of a conversation with someone.

"…Nott returns, I want to know what he discovered. And send Pucey to find Lucius."

"Yes, my lord."

Harry's lips curled with disgust at the sound of that voice. Wormtail, chatting it up with Voldemort as if they were discussing a spate of foul weather. Harry slowly opened his eyes and dragged himself up, rubbing at the tender spot on the back of his neck; he checked his fingers for blood and was relieved to find none.

"Ah," Voldemort said kindly, "back with us now? You've been out for some time. I was starting to worry."

"Why? I'm a bit hard to kill, remember?"

Voldemort snorted softly. "Oh, yes. A niggling detail that shall be remedied tonight."

"Yeah? Got something more original than _Avada Kedavra _planned?"

Voldemort wrangled his lips into a sneer. He extended his hand to pat Harry's cheek, then seeming to think better of it he stopped short, fingers hovering inches from the boy's face. He wrapped them into a protective fist and drew it back. That night in the graveyard he had been able to lay hands on Potter; he should still be able to, yet he dared not—not after being tossed against the staircase like a wet rag. Wild magic, he told himself. Children often lost control of their magic when stressed and Potter, the little drama queen, was the poster child of excitability.

"Yes, the Killing Curse has proved exasperatingly ineffective where you are concerned, so I have had to become more…inventive than usual."

"Hope you didn't go out of your way."

Voldemort shook his head. "Not at all. It just involved a bit of light research. I have no use for Muggles, but they have always dedicated inordinate amounts of creativity to inventing the next best killing machine. Their ideas of meting out justice range from strapping their criminals to a chair, running electricity through their bodies until they die to injecting them with poison, or hanging, or shooting them. And in wartime they fashion killer diseases in laboratories, plant bombs in the ground, and—clever devils—they once built mock showers that expelled lethal gases, killing unsuspecting prisoners guilty of having—get this—_inferior _blood!" Harry frowned as Voldemort grinned. "I almost envy them, our Muggle forebears. So much delicious variety, such boundless depths to their depravity… Why hardly a decade has passed where somewhere in the world one group has not waged war on another because of various…afflictions…" Voldemort turned, as if suddenly remembering something. "Wormtail! Where is Bagman?"

"He should be here by now, my lord."

Voldemort's jaw clenched. "Go, see what is keeping him. If you don't find him within five minutes, _you_ fetch Potter's surprise."

"My lord," Wormtail said. Before tottering down the steps, he cast Harry a strange, disoriented look.

"May I ask you a question?" Voldemort said to Harry.

Harry looked up at him. "Do I have to answer?"

Voldemort laughed softly. "No, but it would please me if you did." Harry said nothing. "Why did you let Severus adopt you?"

Harry scowled, annoyed. "Why do you want to know?"

"Well, it is quite the remarkable transformation, the relationship between you two—and I just wonder if you have truly forgiven him for the way he treated you all those years." Voldemort waited; Harry stared back at him, stubbornly silent. "Come now, why so reticent? You have forgiven him, haven't you?"

Voldemort could play his mind games, blathering on about Dumbledore's supposedly racist past, but Snape was off limits and small talk to fill the gap between now and whatever horrid demise he had planned was not on.

"Ah." Voldemort's lips shifted oddly, as if having difficulty deciding between a smile and a grimace. "I see. He's become precious to you. You _love_ him. But isn't it strange that he isn't here at your side?" Harry's eyes flashed, alarmed. "Oh, don't fret. He's alive... The air reeks of his fear for you, his hatred for me. I must admit, Severus has ever been a weakness of mine, so much so that I was willing to overlook the fact that he is a coward—and a coward of the worst sort as he has absolutely no conviction. Oh, he's loyal to a fault when it counts in his favor, when his master is strong that is, but the second he sniffs a weakness, he abandons them, as he abandoned me for Dumbledore."

"My dad is no cow –" Harry began, then he realized something: Voldemort knew Snape was alive, but he had no idea the man and loads of other people were inside, steps away—if they hadn't found a way around the barrier, that is.

Harry took a moment to focus; he couldn't sense the barrier, but he hadn't been able to sense it before either, hadn't even known he'd erected it. He glanced sideways at the ruined doorway and choked.

Draco!

*WO

**Hagrid's Hut, Hogwarts**** …_3:25 a.m._**

Hermione and Savage had reached a door. She grabbed his arm when he made to pull it open. "This hasn't been used in ages."

"What gave it away? That long dusty corridor we just travelled down?"

Hermione pursed her lips. "My point is, we really don't know what's going on out there…"

"Yes?" The skin around Savage's gray eyes crinkled with humor.

He was having a laugh at her. Hermione didn't like it, but she couldn't blame him. The man made his living as an Auror. It's not as if he would blindly blunder out onto a battlefield like an idiot. Still, no matter how effective an Auror he was he couldn't see through wood or stone. He had no more idea than she did of what might be awaiting them outside. She held her breath as he eased the door open. It glided soundlessly as if the centuries-old hinges had recently been oiled.

"Mind the shrubs," she whispered as the door thumped closed behind them. "They're actually Venomous Tentacula."

"Ah. I wondered about that."

Heading toward the forest they kept to the shadows. Increasing cloud cover shadowed their movements. Savage navigated the steep rocky grounds with the silent grace of a ninja; Hermione lost her footing twice; Savage righted her each time. She knew she was hindering him, but he never complained or acted irritated, simply held her hand, kept her close.

"I should have asked Proudfoot where he last spotted the Adar Llwch Gwin," she muttered.

"I've a feeling we're exactly where we should be. The old girl did a good job directing us."

Hermione frowned. "Professor McGonagall wouldn't like –"

Savage laughed. "Not that old girl—I meant the castle, Hogwarts. Those stairs don't move around willy-nilly, you know."

"You went to school here."

"Mm. Graduated a couple years before Bill Weasley. Er, shall we kick on?"

Hermione blinked, then she flushed, realizing that she had stopped and was staring at him. Even with the scruffy whiskers and battle-torn robes, he was ridiculously beautiful. "Yes, of course," she said. She took a step and cried out. She had stepped into a shallow sinkhole, twisting her ankle. Savage stooped down to look at it. "It's fine," she said, waving him off. "I just need to walk it out, I think." She took a few mincing steps, wincing and biting her lip each time she settled on the injured ankle.

Ignoring her efforts to brush him off, Savage put an arm around her. "Lean on me," he said.

"Honestly," she grumbled. "I've been hurt worse…" But she did surrender to him and minutes later the outline of Hagrid's hut appeared. About ten yards from the hut Savage stopped. He put a finger to his lips, tapped his ear, and pointed. Hermione cocked her head, listening. A scratching noise was coming from the opposite side of the hut.

"Get behind me." Savage mouthed, his expression grim and alert. Hermione shifted behind him and readied her wand. She kept close, practically riding his back as she limped after him, her heart beating absurdly fast. As they edged around the back of the hut, easing toward the old pumpkin patch, she fully expected to find a Death Eater (or ten) but she nearly whooped for joy when Buckbeak pecked his way into sight. She put a hand on Savage's when he aimed his wand at the hippogriff.

"No," she said. "Let me."

When Hermione pushed past him, Savage's brows creased, as if questioning her sanity and intelligence. He grabbed her arm; Hermione turned, her eyebrows raised. She cast a look down, eyes on his hand. He let her go but poised himself to reel her back if the beast attacked.

Hermione was nervous. She had been around Buckbeak plenty and knew he likely wouldn't hurt her, but he was the size of a horse, had talons, hooves, a twenty-four foot wingspan and a beak—all deadly weapons if he got a mind to use them on her. Moving more deliberately than was probably necessary, she inhaled deep breaths as she stared into the yellow eye Buckbeak had trained on her; she bowed. Just as she was beginning to wonder if Savage had been right Buckbeak extended a taloned leg and dipped his head. Relieved, Hermione straightened and limped over to pat his neck.

"Lovely to see you, Buckbeak," she said, smiling. The hippogriff gently nudged her shoulder with his head enjoying the caress.

"Right, now that we're all mates –" Savage began.

"I am," said Hermione, scratching Buckbeak's gray-feathered chin, "but you need to greet him, too."

Savage scowled. "I don't know a thing about greeting these beasts."

"Then it's time you learned." Hermione took Savage's hand. "Start by speaking nicely to him."

Savage dragged his feet as she guided him to the hippogriff. "Nice beastie…" he whispered, then leapt nearly half a league when Buckbeak bobbed his head, pinning Savage with that sharp yellow-eyed gaze.

"Honestly! His name is Buckbeak."

"'Course it is," Savage muttered. "'Lo, Bucky."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Now, you _must_ maintain eye contact or…well, he'll claw you to bits—then bow, still holding eye contact. When he bows back, you're safe."

"Safe, eh?" Savage grumbled, but he did as she instructed, eyes watering (from having to hold them open so long) as he folded at the waist; he waited (trembling with fatigue, not fear). When Buckbeak bowed back, Savage tried not to squeak in surprise; he also pretended not to hear Hermione giggling.

"He could be useful, you know," she said, stroking the hippogriff's flank. "In our third year, Harry rode –" Buckbeak suddenly shied from her touch; Hermione frowned. "What's wrong, boy?"

Someone rasped from the dark: "Show yourself!"

Hermione turned, brown eyes searching. As she peered at the other side of the hut a feeble ray of moonlight reflected off something silver—a hand. "Pettigrew!" she gasped.

A curse whipped past her head, blowing her hair back. Savage ripped one of the belt loops on her jeans jerking her flat against the hut, out of Pettigrew's line of fire. The reprieve didn't last long. The window in back of the hut exploded. Hermione screamed and Savage spun, pulling her into his arms, shielding her from the worst of the blast. Then he began muttering. Dark smoke poured from his wand, enveloping them, the hut and extending out to the edge of the forest.

The sudden blackout alarmed Buckbeak. He reared up, clawing the air; his talons missed Savage by a breath. Hermione wriggled free from Savage and flapped her hands about, searching blindly for the hippogriff. When she found him she threw her arms around his neck trying to calm him and prevent him from running off. Savage grabbed her about the waist and made to pull her into a run, but Hermione didn't budge; his grip tightened.

"We can ride him!" she said, yanking free.

"Are you out of your –"

"I can't run! Not on this ank –"

Another spell hit the ground behind them. A blaze erupted. Buckbeak screeched and reared up again, knocking Hermione into Savage. "Oh, honestly!" She pushed off the man, then grabbed his arm. "You must trust me!" She trapped his hand in the crook of her elbow and began pulling him toward the hippogriff.

There really was no room for debate, yet Savage hesitated. Then the back of the hut blew apart. Hermione screamed, throwing her arms up to cover her head. Muttering an endless stream of oaths, Savage fumbled around, hand pawing the air for Buckbeak. The second he found the animal, he tossed Hermione up onto its back, then he jumped on, settling behind her. "Why couldn't it have been anything other than flying?" He growled as something else exploded behind them.

Spooked by the explosion and by the unexpected weight on his back, Buckbeak shot forward, talons and hooves skidding across the rocky ground. Savage closed his eyes and tightened his grip around Hermione.

"Come on Buckbeak!" Hermione pleaded.

After a few good strides, Buckbeak spread his wings. Savage nearly sobbed in relief, but the moment Buckbeak cleared the protective ring of smoke the beast shrieked, stumbling when a spell nabbed him high up on his left hip. "Damn it!" Savage barked. He ducked down, flattening Hermione beneath him; in turn, she clutched Buckbeak around the neck.

The hippogriff cawed and took flight. "Good boy!" Hermione squeezed him, coaxing the hippogriff higher as curses flashed around them. Savage loosed a flurry of his own and was gratified to hear a scream after his last volley. No other curses came at them after that. Soon they were soaring over the canopy of the forest.

*WO

**Entrance Hall, Hogwarts**** …_3:20 a.m._**

No torchlight meant the hallway was a gaping maw of darkness. The courtyard was not visible thanks to the generous length and width of the hallway, so Draco might have been able to use a muted _Lumos_ to light his way, but he dared not attempt it. Sliding along the wall, he slowly maneuvered over the wreckage without incident until his foot twisted between two splintered beams. He bit his lip to the muffle the oath he nearly shouted, then limped the rest of the way to the doorway. Peering around the dangling remnants of one of the door's massive hinges he had to stay another oath: Harry lay against the staircase, unmoving. Draco's nails bit into his palms as he waited, silently ordering Harry to move. When the Gryffindor finally stirred, Draco sagged against the hinge in relief.

His lips pulled in a small smile when Harry shifted to lean against the staircase. Only Harry could get away with looking as though he would rather be sitting through a Celestina Warbeck encore than be in the Dark Lord's presence. The Dark Lord was waving his hand, dismissing a man, balding, squat, and strangely rat-like—Wormtail, everyone had called him; Draco didn't like him, never had. The nasty glance Harry threw at the man let Draco know he wasn't the only one.

"Ah," the Dark Lord said kindly, "back with us now?"

Draco shrank back, stumbling in his hurry to shelter further into the dark. Gods! He hadn't heard that voice since December. _May I ask you a question?_ It was like a thousand cobras slithering all over his body. _No, but it would please me if you did. _He closed his eyes and tried to drown out the sound. When he began to tremble, he folded at the waist, taking deep breaths. "Get a hold of yourself!" He hissed.

"Malfoy?"

Draco turned toward the sound. "Weasley?"

"Malfoy! Where are you?"

"Shh! I'm here!" Draco held out his hand. When a flailing one knocked into it, he grabbed hold.

"What's going on?" Ron whispered loudly as he stepped over to Draco. His foot rolled over the same beams Draco had tangled with; he gripped Draco's hand hard trying to keep balanced. "Damn it!"

"Weasley, shut up!"

"But, what's taking –"

"He'll hear you!"

"Who? Harry? Is he all right? Can you see him from here? What –"

At a loss for another way to shut Ron up, Draco pulled the boy's head down and pressed their mouths together. Ron jerked in surprise then entwined his arms around Draco, crushing the Slytherin to him while easing open Draco's lips with his tongue.

Draco broke the kiss when he ran out of air. "Merlin, Weasley…" He stared up at Ron, gray eyes wide.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that," Ron whispered against Draco's mouth, but when Draco said nothing, just stood shivering in Ron's arms, Ron frowned and started to pull away, cursing himself for being so stupid.

Draco suddenly found his voice; he gripped Ron to keep him close. "You've probably wanted to do it as long I've wanted you to do it… But…we do have more pressing issues at the moment."

"Oh, shit, Harry…"

"Yes." Draco twisted free and peered out again to find Harry looking right at him. Harry's eyes widened and he coughed or choked. His eyes darted up and down, taking a quick inventory of Voldemort before landing on Draco again. Then Draco felt a gentle pressure, forcing him back, just like in Hogsmeade. He scowled, hands flailing as he lurched backwards into Ron. Hating to appear ungraceful he quickly righted himself. Draco stuck his head back out and Harry's lips tightened, the way they did when he was about to swear. Instead, he frowned and twitched his head sharply. Draco narrowed eyes, ready to defy Harry, but then he gave a quick nod and disappeared from sight.

*WO

**Staircase to the Entrance Hall, ****Hogwarts**** _…3:34 a.m_**

"Finally realizing he's not coming?" Voldemort asked, misreading Harry's relieved sigh; Harry looked up at him, fighting a smile. People! There were people, steps away, and _He_ didn't know it! "Potter? What is it?"

"Nothing," Harry said, eyes flicking unconsciously back to the castle's entrance. Good. Draco hadn't reappeared.

Voldemort's lips tightened, his red eyes narrowed. Harry's eyes were far too bright and he seemed…giddy. Why? He looked at the entrance, the called out, "Macnair!"

A bullish hulk pounded up the steps three at a time. Once he reached Voldemort, the man clumsily collapsed to one beefy knee. Up close, Harry recognized him as Buckbeak's would-be executioner. "My lord." Harry shuddered; the man's deep voice was the most soulless sound he had ever heard.

"Take some men inside. Any stragglers you come across, round them up. I want standing room only once the spectacle begins. Also," Voldemort eyed Harry again, "see if you can flush out our old friend, Severus."

Harry's face heated and his tongue twisted in a knot, making words impossible.

"Yes, Potter?" Voldemort crouched down to Harry's level, noting how the boy's eyes, wide, owlish and angry behind those ridiculous spectacles, followed Macnair and the dozen cloaked figures tramping past to enter the castle.

"You won't find anyone." Harry hoped he was telling the truth.

Voldemort smiled. "We shall see."

*WO

**Entrance Hall, Hogwarts**** …_3:45 a.m. _**

"What's happening?" George demanded when Ron and Draco returned.

"Ron?" Fred said, concerned by his brother's dazed look.

A _crack _sounded and Dobby appeared. "Harry Potter's map, Young Malfoy, sir."

"Yes, right. Thank you." Draco (looking as dazed as Ron) took it from the house-elf. "And the Cloak?"

"Dobby couldn't find it, sir. Dobby looked everywhere."

"Strange…" Draco muttered.

"Right, then. Let's go." Fred snatched the map from Draco. Draco tried to grab it back, but Fred stuffed it down the front of his trousers, then held his arms out, daring Draco to take it back.

"You arse!" Draco snarled. "Potter's out there!"

Fred made an irritated noise. "Tell us something we don't know!"

"For starters, he doesn't want us out there."

"Oh? So we just leave him to You-Know-Who's scaly clutches, eh?" Fred growled.

"Don't you see?" Draco said. "The Dark Lord doesn't know we're in here. If we expose ourselves now, we're dead!"

"Hogwash." Fred started to charge past Draco to go outside. "Harry's out there, some of our _family_ is likely out there, yet here we stand wringing our hands!"

Ron rushed to grab Fred's arm. "Malfoy's right… If Harry needed us he would've given Malfoy a sign or something."

"Oh, and since when do you believe everything Princess here says?"

Face reddening, Ron crowded toward his brother; Fred squared his shoulders; George swiftly stepped between them. "The last thing we need is you two at each other's throats! Ron, we have the map now, we can see exactly where You-Know-Who's people are so that we don't walk into a trap. Forge, it makes absolutely _no_ sense to reveal ourselves. If tall, gray, and evil is content to be outside just now, good on him. Why invite him inside where we're safe for the moment? What we need to do is make sure this hall is empty in case he does decide to come in, yeah?" George patted his twin on the cheek.

Fred rolled his eyes. He hated when George resorted to their childhood nicknames in front of strangers. Spotting movement out of the corner of his eye, he turned and hissed: "Oy!"

A girl, about to wander past the door and into Voldemort's sightline, looked Fred up and down, her green eyes unimpressed. "What?"

"Keep to that side, eh? Go on." Fred waved his hands in a shooing motion. "Macmillan, keep them all to that side for now."

The girl, a Slytherin, scowled, but moved back. Ron heard the words "Rude ginger bastard!" as she rejoined the group she had left. Ernie shot the boys an apologetic look as he patted the Slytherin on the back. He then motioned for everyone to stay where they were.

"Dobby," George said, kneeling down to the house-elf's level. "We need your help."

Dobby's spine stiffened as he pulled his shoulders back. "Anything, sir."

"Are there any house-elves in the kitchens or are they all up on the roof?"

"Winky and about twenty or so others stayed behind, sir. Most are old and not much use except to do our Hogwarts chores. There's a few young ones, too; they was scared to go up on the roof. They was ashamed for it, but Dobby told them it was clever for them to stay because who knows how long the battle will be going on, and all the fighters will be needing food and drink and care."

"Brilliant bit of strategy there, Dobby," George said, "but I need you to round them up and bring them here, all right?"

"Yes, sir."

"Where'd Professor Burbage get off to?" George said. "Maybe she could do a Silencing spell. It's a wonder they haven't heard us out there. Fred, let's see if ol' Hoggy will let us cast our Death Eater Repellent spell round the entrance."

"Right-o, ol' chap! My less handsome half, my –"

"Ron, you and Malfoy round up the people on this side, get them ready for the house-elves. I'll have Ernie and Terry do the same on that side."

*WO

**Entrance Hall, Hogwarts**** _…3:47 a.m._**

As the Ministry of Magic's executioner of dangerous creatures Walden Macnair did the work no one else had the stomach to do. This never troubled him. Truth be told, very little troubled Macnair. Aldous Shannon, the aging Ministry wizard that by law had to witness all dangerous creatures executions, once told his wife that Macnair's breathing never changed when he killed, no matter how tough the beast's hide, or how thick the bone. Shannon told her of the time he and Macnair had been called to the Pennines to put down a rogue acromantula. Macnair, usually so deliberate in his work that one could call almost him humane, botched this kill. He'd had to hack into the beast fifty times before the squalling thing finally stilled. "I reckon he's the same way when he's doing in folks for You-Know-Who," Shannon told his horrified wife. "When he's at it, he don't sweat a lick, that one. Soulless he is, bleedin' soulless."

Shannon had no idea how right he was. The compulsion to kill was as much a part of Macnair's DNA as his black hair, cleft chin, and rumored sixth toe on his right foot. Macnair used magic (he was a Pure-blood) but mostly for menial purposes. Strangely, he never used it to kill. When carrying out an execution he used tools—knives, axes, garrotes. Truly, though, he preferred his own two hands.

As Macnair and his troops stormed into the entrance hall, he ordered four men to check the dungeons and eight others to check the upper floors. Because Macnair's voice resonated like a wounded bear in the woods, neither he nor his men heard Fred and George Disillusioning themselves, or Ron bundling Draco into his arms to hide in the niche behind Hufflepuff's hourglass of yellow sapphires; nor did they hear the _crack _of house-elves quickly transporting the last of the students from the hall. Nearly everyone made it.

Ernie Macmillan, in his eagerness to see that everyone on his side had been evacuated, hadn't disappeared behind a tapestry quickly enough to avoid being seen. Between Ron, Draco, Fred, and George, neither had the chance to call out or to defend the boy before Macnair grabbed Ernie, snapping the boy's neck easily, as if he was snapping a green bean. Ernie collapsed in a boneless heap on the floor. Draco closed his eyes. He let his head fall against Ron's back, trying to make the image of Ernie's expression of blank surprise fade, but it lingered as Ron cursed softly: "No! Goddamn it! Goddamn _it_!"

*WO

**Courtyard, Hogwarts****_ …time _**

Loud murmurs traveled through the courtyard when Wormtail reappeared. He was heading up a procession of four thestrals. He had reins clasped in his silver hand; his left hand he held up to his face. Savage's parting shot had exacted more damage than the Auror could have hoped. A long blackened gash extended from the top of Wormtail's balding head clear down to his fatty, shapeless chin.

"What took you so long?" Voldemort spat.

Wormtail's right eye fluttered in surprise at the venom in the Dark Lord's voice. The rapid blinking made the eye even more watery and his expression even more pitiful. "Someone was at the caretaker's hut, my lord... L-Look what they did to me!" He let his hand fall, exposing the bloody, ravaged socket where his left eye used to be.

Voldemort had to clench his jaw against uttering the Killing Curse. He would have done better sending the Weird Sisters! Spinning so that his robes flared out behind him, he glided to the center of the staircase leaving Wormtail to gape after him. He then turned and raised a hand, demanding quiet. The crowd was buzzing and shifting restlessly, trying to figure out what was going on, but when Voldemort motioned for silence, they slowly settled.

"My friends," Voldemort said, "the ease with which I have conquered Hogwarts and her denizens pleases me greatly, but I won't be satisfied until the false prophet, Harry Potter, is dead."

"False prophet, eh?" Someone shouted. "I know you, Tom Riddle, from way back! You want to talk fakery –" The next sound was a piercing scream cut short.

Voldemort continued: "It is not enough to have put a stop to your little…rebellion. I want to stamp out all thought of future disturbances. Thus I encourage you to take what lessons you will from this demonstration—or it won't be the last." He shot Wormtail a look.

The one-eyed wizard nodded and four white-masked figures appeared, each taking the reins of a thestral. Guiding their beast by the bridle the Death Eaters fanned out to form a large four-point star. The thestrals, outfitted in strange saddle-like riggings with long leather tethers looped around the saddles' horns, snorted and bobbed their heads, uneasy as Wormtail waved his wand, summoning the tethers to gather in the center of the star.

Once Wormtail was out of the way, Voldemort lifted his arm, then dragged his wand in a dramatic circle above his head. The tethers slithered to life. They danced through the air a moment, like disembodied tresses of hair, then they shot straight out to bracket his body. "_Incarcerous!_" He hissed.

The tethers exploded forward to twine around Harry's wrists and ankles. The crowd screamed when Voldemort flicked his wand, sending Harry sailing through the air, then lowered the boy into the center of the four-point star. The men holding the reins urged the creatures forward, drawing the tethers taut so that they bit into Harry's skin and stretched his limbs. The thestrals pranced, skittish at the added tension in the tethers.

Through it all Harry said nothing, gave no sign that he was sick and afraid. He refused to give Voldemort the satisfaction of crying out. The only tell was his lips tightening, anticipating the unpleasantness of his limbs being wrenched from his body. He knew Voldemort wouldn't make it quick, that he would drag it out. To distract himself he tapped his fingers on the ground. He longed for something to hold—Hermione's hand, the sleeve of Snape's robes, Lily's medallion.

The medallion… Since Dumbledore gave it to him last summer, Harry never went anywhere without it. While the weight of it against his thigh eased his mind, what comfort would it bring once Voldemort set the thestrals loose? None, certainly, but it was nice to know it wasn't languishing in his trunk or in a discarded pair of jeans. It was nice to know he had a bit of his mother and Snape with him.

Snape. Voldemort would kill him the second Snape showed himself. Images of the Potions master spinning in the air like a rotisserie chicken, hands aflame, flashed in Harry's mind. What evil did Voldemort have planned this time? More of the same? Something worse?

To take his mind off what could possibly be worse than being roasted alive, Harry contemplated summoning the medallion from his pocket. Wormtail was watching but the man's attention wasn't absolute. He looked like a villain in a Muggle comic book, half his face a cauterized mess, his remaining eye bloodshot and leaking. And the way he stared at Harry, as if Harry was a ghost. It made his hair stand on end.

"_Accio_ Mum's medallion," Harry whispered, barely moving his lips. Wormtail might look as if he was ready to book a bed on the fourth floor at St. Mungo's, but Harry's eyes never strayed, alert to the man's slightest movement.

As the medallion shimmied up the deep well of the pocket of his Quidditch trousers, Harry lowered his eyes to follow its escape. He watched it tip out of his pocket, then zip unimpeded over the courtyard's thick grass. When it touched his fingertips, he curled his fingers around it, shifting it to rest in his palm. Then he closed his eyes, blotting out Wormtail's dead gaze.

A woman screamed.

"Blimey! Where did he come from?" Someone asked.

"I knew it! I never trusted him! On You-Know-Who's side all along!"

"Traitor!"

"_Snape!_"

Harry's eyes flew open.

*WO


	31. Chapter 31

Disclaimer: JK Rowling's characters.

**Honeydukes, Hogsmeade_…4:07 a.m._**

"Proudfoot!" Williamson growled. "Stop with the fucking pacing, man!"

Proudfoot arched his brows and nodded at their companions; Williamson winced: "A thousand pardons Madam Rosmerta… Flume."

Madam Rosmerta sat looking out the big window Death Eater's had blown apart in February. From outside Honeydukes appeared ruined and deserted, but like the window, most everything within the shop had been repaired—not exactly to its original state, there was a considerable lack of sweets—but then it wasn't acting as a sweetshop at the moment. Rosmerta chuckled and waved a hand at the young Auror. "Willie, in my line of business the trick is to not have heard language that would peel paint. I'm hardly the wilting rose."

"Hardly wilting," Flume said quietly, "but there's enough of a bloom left to be pleasing."

Williamson chuckled at the man. "Flume, you old goat!"

"Shouldn't we have heard something from Arthur or Kingsley by now?" said Proudfoot. "They must have –"

"Alecto!" A voice boomed outside, travelling the length of the street. The men raced to join Rosmerta at the window.

"Check the Three Broomsticks and the post office!" Bram Nott shouted, though the village was so quiet, speaking in a normal voice would have worked just as well. "Amycus, search Gladrags, the quill shop, and Madam Puddifoot's. You others, round the corner down there and check the Hog's Head and the shops near it. I'll take Zonko's and the sweetshop."

"What do you imagine they're sniffing round 'ere for?" Madam Rosmerta whispered, watching the lighted tips of the Death Eater's wands bob and weave eerily up the street as they carried out Nott's orders.

Flume said, "Someone gave us up."

"No one could have," said Williamson. "No one knows we're here."

"Someone must have said something," Rosmerta said. "Why else –"

The door to the sweetshop banged open. Nott stepped through, his bear-sized frame filling the entrance. "You lot all right?" he asked.

"Fine," said Williamson, coming to stand before their visitor, his hand out. "What in bloody hell you doing here?"

Nott shrugged and shook Williamson's hand. "Potter."

Madam Rosmerta put a hand to her chest. "What? Is he here?"

Proudfoot said quietly: "No, but he was in the room when we were discussing strategy, wasn't he? In fact, half of it was like a nursery for all the young ones tucked up in there, wasn't it?"

"Even so, Harry Potter wouldn't have just told You-Know-Who we were here!"

"That's exactly what he did," said Nott. "Oh, I don't think he meant to do it, but he's rather reckless when being challenged, isn't he?" He looked outside at the sound of glass breaking and Alecto's shrill voice calling for her brother. "Listen, I can't linger."

"Off to the joke shop then?" Williamson teased, but he could get away with it; Nott was his godfather.

"Cheeky toad," Nott muttered. "I chose it because it's close and I wanted to look in on you." He pointed at something on Williamson's chest. The instant the young Auror looked down, Nott flicked the tip of his godson's nose with his finger, a thing he had done since Williamson was a toddler. It tickled Nott that the man still fell for it. "Have you any word from Kingsley, Arthur or anyone at the Ministry? Olympe?"

"No. We've heard nothing, but in light of our guests outside, shouldn't we change up our plans a bit?" Flume asked.

"I'll handle those fools," Nott said, tipping his head toward the street. "After I leave, though, send a Patronus to Minerva… and Dawlish, too. Let them know all is well here."

"Will do," said Proudfoot.

"Bram…" Williamson began.

"I'll be fine." Nott smiled and patted Williamson's cheek. "Three of them, the ones I sent round to the Hog's Head, they're with me. Now, do I as say, all right?"

"Yes, sir." Williamson's eyes followed his godfather's broad back as the man left the shop. "I should trail him, make sure nothing happens. I don't trust those Carrows."

"You follow him, they'll cut you both down," Proudfoot said. "Just, wait a bit, Willie. If he gets into trouble, we'll know."

"Five minutes," Williamson said. "I'll wait five minutes then I'm going after him."

*WO

**Snape**_**…4:15 a.m.**_

"Severus, at last... And using the boy's Invisibility Cloak to slink about. Even now, at the end of things you can't resist trickery and deceit. _Accio,_Severus's wand." Voldemort caught it deftly as it soared to him.

Snape dropped to his knees, seemingly unfazed at being disarmed. He then folded forward until his nose nearly touched the ground, the picture of submission as Voldemort descended the steps. "My lord, take me in his place," he said.

"What!" Harry yelped, twisting his head as best as he could to see Snape. "What are you doing? You can't –"

"Quiet, Potter."

"I wasn't talking to you!"

"Hold your tongue, boy!" Voldemort lifted a finger and the Death Eaters drew the thestrals forward a step; Harry gritted his teeth against a scream as the bonds tautened, breaking skin. "Let the adults have a word."

"Dad, d-don't –"

"Harry, do as he says! I don't need your help!"

"But why –"

"So insolent!" Voldemort hissed, then flicked his wrist. The stretch of the tethers sounded like wailing. When Harry moaned, Snape broke form, scrambling toward him.

"Don't you dare touch him," Voldemort said coldly. Snape froze so abruptly, Harry wondered if the man had stopped on his own, or if Voldemort had cast a spell.

Harry's eyes found Snape's: "Dad, I'm o-okay..." He lied. His left shoulder ached terribly; it might be dislocated.

"Look at me Severus," Voldemort said. Snape was engrossed, watching Harry, lips thinned, the way they did when he knew Harry was lying. "I said _look at me!_"

Snape grimaced as the dark wizard clawed his fingers into the back of his neck to yank Snape's head around. Their eyes met; it was just as Voldemort has expected—Snape's expression was passive, as eloquent as a slab of concrete. Voldemort turned to Harry, red eyes making a slow circuit of the Gryffindor's face. Finding nothing there but an impotent, childish rage, his eyes returned to Snape; then they went back to Harry. He did this for several minutes, gaze bouncing from wizard to wizard. Irritatingly, every time Snape and Harry's eyes connected, something a glittering, piercing thing, passed between them. It was stifling and…pestilential. Voldemort equated it with hate—except this 'thing' was radiant, buoyant and pure. He nearly snorted in disgust.

_Love_.

Its presence set his teeth on edge, made him burn as if a colony of fire ants had burrowed their way beneath his skin, but he laughed softly, feigning nonchalance. He began toying with Snape's hair, letting the silken stands slide through his fingers. Harry's eyes widened in horror as Snape's eyes closed and his head fell back, settling into Voldemort's palm.

Voldemort twitched in surprise. Ah, so the game was still on.

One of the reasons he had taken Severus into the fold, had prized him above the others was because, unlike many of the other Death Eaters, who had come from privilege, Voldemort knew Severus, the sallow-skinned, reedy thing with black eyes that blazed with a greedy intelligence, had not. Voldemort knew that just as his own twisted start in life had molded him for his destiny, Severus's had as well.

Severus had come to him, painfully distrustful and vicious—qualities Voldemort had understood and encouraged, but Severus had been vulnerable too. Raw from a near deadly run-in with a werewolf, then having his plea for justice brushed aside by Albus Dumbledore, the boy's rage had burned hot. But even with all that rage and pain to play with, it had irked Voldemort that he had never been able to fully enthrall the boy. Severus had proved an exemplary Death Eater. He had followed orders to the letter, had learned how to please Voldemort when entrenched within the dark wizard's bedchamber, yet he had always held a bit of himself back, hoarding it as jealously as goblins hoarded gold. No matter what degradations Voldemort subjected him to, Severus never surrendered it to him—but he'd surrendered it to Potter.

Voldemort almost wanted to understand it, but truly, he was more intrigued at how far Snape would go to save the boy. Would he sacrifice himself for Potter?

"…Convince me, Severus. Why should I spare the boy?"

"Think how useful he could be if you kept him alive, my lord." Snape paced his words oddly, dragging them out. "Think – Think of the goodwill that would gain you once you have conquered –"

"Goodwill?" Voldemort snorted. "Goodwill is for fools! For weak-minded, corrupt, self-loathing twats desperate to remain in the good graces of those they rule so that they can retain their ineffective little offices. …However, obedience… Obedience can be most satisfying for everyone involved." Voldemort pressed Snape's face against his thigh, inches from his groin. "You recall what it is to be obedient, don't you, Severus?"

Snape paled. His eyes opened and his mouth became a hard line. "My lord, you are the most powerful wizard –"

Voldemort wrapped Snape's hair around his hand, then jerked the man's head back. "Spare me! Your false reverence does nothing to stoke my ego! It only makes me want to snuff out the boy's light this very second!" He yanked Snape up to stand, then dipped his head, putting his mouth close to Snape's. "You were ever the silver-tongued tempter, Severus, but I too have talents. Do I need to refresh your memory of how I reward those who deceive me? You remember that night last summer in the forest? You remember my wrath after your double-dealing was exposed?" When Snape said nothing Voldemort shook him. "Answer me!"

"I remember." Snape said tightly. He twisted, as if to ease Voldemort's grip, though truly, he sought to spy the skies beyond the Owlery.

Voldemort continued: "You recall your screams? My god they were _sweet_, even sweeter than the cries I pulled from you the nights I took you in my bed…"

Snape tensed, saying nothing. Having things he had never wished to share with Harry about that part of his life among the Death Eaters so carelessly revealed shamed him.

"Oh, there, there. There's no need to be shy; Potter knows. He wasn't as surprised as I imagined he would be, but why should he be surprised? All that time spent tucked away in those dungeons. Why wouldn't you have trained him as I trained you?"

Snape closed his eyes against the sudden urge to vomit.

"Think of it, those knowing fingers of yours stroking –"

Ignoring the pain of Voldemort's tight grip on his hair, Snape twisted his head sharply. He made sure Voldemort was looking him in the eye, then he spat. The discharge landed high up on the dark wizard's temple, beside his right eyebrow. After taking a second to absorb what had happened, Voldemort's hand moved like a whip, leaving a dark red, five-fingered impression on the left side of Snape's face. He shoved Snape away from him, then dragged a hand down his face, wiping off the Potions master's sputum. Eyeing the wetness coating his fingers, he aimed his wand: "_Crucio! Crucio! Crucio!_"

Snape's screams shattered the night. Unable to cover their eyes and ears, many in the crowd lowered their heads, closed their eyes, screwed their faces up as if to block out the sound.

"STOP IT!" Harry shrieked and thrashed, struggling to see Snape. "YOU BASTARD! STOP!"

Voldemort stopped. He looked over at Harry. "Was I straining your attention, Potter, or are you really so eager to die?"

"LEAVE HIM ALONE! JUST LEAVE HIM ALONE!"

"I see." Voldemort smiled coldly_._"Fine, then. We'll do you first."

"N-N-NO!" Snape screamed hoarsely, body still spasming from the aftershocks of the _Crucios_. "My l-lord, p-p-please, I will d-do whatever you ask! Don't hurt him, please!" He said, his speech slurred and convulsive.

Voldemort laughed humorlessly. "Oh, Severus." He leaned over, taking hold of Snape's hair. He dragged the man along the ground behind him like a disobedient dog. Moving next to Harry's shoulder, he crouched down, head tilted as he eyed the boy, slowly taking him in from head to toe. "You know," he said thoughtfully, "perhaps you are right, Severus. Perhaps he can be of use to me. After my victory, I would welcome a spot of…relief. He is quite a lovely thing… Those striking green eyes –"

"Fuck you!" Harry spat.

"And that profane tongue…" Voldemort held a hand above Harry's mouth, so close he could feel the angry puffs of the boy's breath, but he had turned his gaze onto Snape, who looked murderous. He looked back at Harry. He began moving his fingers sinuously, tracing the outline of Harry's lips without touching them; Harry's eyes watered, his face reddened with hatred. "However, should I decide to keep him, I should like a preview of the goods. Shall I strip him now, or later, Severus…in private?" Voldemort reached to unclasp a button on Harry's Quidditch jersey.

"T-Touch him," Snape said coldly. His still tongue lagged a bit, so it took the fire out of his words, but the submissive air had vanished. "…T-Touch him and I'll burn you alive."

Voldemort chuckled and drew back, giving Snape an appraising look. "I wondered when you'd tire of your little game, especially as you know that I will not allow him to live. Tell me, why this charade, Severus? Why tax my patience?"

"I needed time." Snape nodded to the southwest, towards Hogsmeade where an immense glowing phoenix of red, gold, silver and blue hung in the sky: Dawlish's signal—the Order's own Morsmordre.

Voldemort rose slowly. He stared at the Mark, then jerked Snape to his feet, red eyes narrowed maliciously. "You believe they are coming to save _you_?"

Snape laughed, his mouth red with blood. "To save me? No. Harry already has."

*WO

**Draco, Ron, Fred and George, Garden Gate near the North Tower**_**…4:18 a.m.**_

"Where are they now?" Ron asked.

Fred opened the map; George aimed a muted _Lumos_at it so Fred could see. "…A quarter of a mile, that way." Fred pointed south, toward the entrance gates.

Before Dobby Apparated the boys out of the Entrance Hall, the map had shown at least ten Death Eaters roaming near (but a fair distance away from) the garden gate on the east end of the castle. The gate opened onto a small courtyard, which lay tucked between the Divination and North Towers. George had judged it the sanest place to go because it had the smallest number of moving dots. It was even truer now that the Death Eaters had spread farther out, but that had not been the only reason Apparating here made sense. The main courtyard, where Harry, Voldemort, and most everyone else was lay to the west of the smaller courtyard. Apparting to this spot provided prime access to the battle and, since Voldemort's people had seemingly deserted the area, the boys had the element of surprise.

"Wonder why they moved on?" Ron said as Fred folded the map.

"Who cares so long as they're away from here," George said, then added: "We should split up."

"What?" Ron gawked at his brother. "Why?"

"We can't stay bunched up all together," George told him. "If we all get captured or killed, there'll be no one to carry on."

Ron frowned. "You have to say it like that?" He mumbled, uneasy because suddenly, he didn't want to be separated from his brothers.

"George is just being a dramatic twat, Ronniekins," Fred said lightly, reading the anxiety in his brother's face. "And while I may not be as pretty as your princess here, I'm still far too pretty to die tonight."

"Asshat," Ron muttered when Fred poked his lips out as if for a kiss.

George said, "Fred and I will go after the roamers, unleash some Fanged Frisbees –"

"Maybe see if we can scrounge up a Skrewt or two while you and the princess here –"

"Stuff it, Weasley!" Draco snarled, fed up with Fred's digs.

"Oh ho!" Fred winked at the Slytherin. "You're not part of this family yet, Princess. Mind your manners."

"Leave off him, Fred!" Ron growled, though Draco had stepped forward, right hand twisting his wand between his fingers, ready should Ron's brother keep antagonizing him.

Fred raised his eyebrows. "Blimey, he puttin' out for you already? S'kinda quick, even for –"

Ron punched Fred in the mouth, knocking him back a couple steps. All three brothers looked at each other, stunned. They had gotten on better than ever this year—though that was mostly because Fred and George were no longer at Hogwarts.

When they were younger, Ron and the twins had had their share of scrapes and squabbles, and while Fred and George were older, Ron had always been taller—his main advantage once he finally began to master his unwieldy body. Before that, a look from Bill had always been enough to cow Fred and George, but once Bill left for Egypt, Ron had had to fend for himself. Even still, he had never hit any of his brothers, not like this.

Fred had a hand to his mouth; he kept checking his fingers for blood. Ron was grimacing, cradling his hand to his chest. His blue eyes glistened with regret, but it didn't last long.

"Nice!" Fred spat. "We're at war against people like this one's father," he gestured angrily at Draco, "and you want to hit _me_for telling it like it is?"

"Keep it up and I'll do it again." Ron took a step forward, but George grabbed him around the waist, hauling him back.

"Oy! Belay that shit! You hear me?"

"Tell him to watch his mouth!" Ron said. "He'd act a right arse if I said something like that about Angelina!"

"Angelina's not a Malfoy!"

George glared at Fred over Ron's shoulder. "Fred! _Shut up!_ Why must you always –"

Something big flew overhead. The boys looked up.

"What the –" Fred began, then ducked as it flew past again—or was there more than one?

Ron crouched down, peeking up through the crook of his elbow. "Oh crap!"

"What?" Fred said.

"It's those birds! The Adar Llwch Gwin, or however you say it. Hermione must have found them!"

"So… what? She sent them to kill us?" Fred shrieked and threw himself flat as another of the birds soared above him making a raucous honk-screech as it passed.

"I don't think it's us they're after," George said.

"Then why are they flying so low?" Ron asked.

George moaned. "Oh, bloody hell…"

"What _now_?" Fred said. Being a twin had its benefits: secret language, finishing one another's sentences, pinching girls' bottoms while sporting your twin's monogrammed jumper, and your twin always inherently understanding how you felt; alternatively, you always understood how your twin felt and the fear and dread in George's voice at that moment made Fred want to go cry out for his mum.

"Werewolves!" George shouted. "Run!"

Ron and Draco whipped around, searching, too panicked to take George at his word. Then Draco saw them, seconds before Ron and Fred did. One was charging at Ron's back; Draco screamed, "Ron!" and threw himself at the redhead. As Draco collided with him, a loud, heavy flapping noise filled the night. The airflow around them seemed to stop, suffocating the boys for an instant. Then something tore at Draco's shoulder, sharp and agonizing; he cried out.

A werewolf howled, but then stopped abruptly, like a needle being dragged across a vinyl record in the middle of a song. "Oh, gods! Oh, gods!" Ron chanted. He rolled so that he was on top of Draco, wanting to protect the boy, but his weight drove the Slytherin's injured shoulder into the ground, making Draco cry out. Ron pressed a quick, soft kiss to Draco's temple in apology, then he looked out at the grounds, to the right of Draco's head. "Shit," he said.

A werewolf, likely the one whose howl had been interrupted, lay in two untidy pieces—its torso upwind, its bottom half some twelve feet in the opposite direction. When two identical screams pierced the night, Ron shifted his head to check on his brothers, but McGonagall shouting from high above distracted him_:_"Alastor, to the south there! Werewolves!"

"I see'em!" Moody shouted back. "You tend to this lot!"

Ron's eyes followed Moody as the man sped southward, grizzled gray hair flapping out behind him as he went. McGonagall cruised close to the ground then leapt cat-like from her broom. She dashed to Ron and Draco, sharp black eyes taking in everything at once. The Adar Llwch Gwin's team of four had split; two had flown south, likely leaving little for Moody to clear up; the other two were still nearby, clawing at the bloody remains of what McGonagall hoped were werewolves and not Hogwarts students.

Ron and Draco lay clasped together, faces white as paste. Ron appeared unharmed, but Draco worried her. The silver Slytherin embellishment at the left shoulder of his Quidditch robes was ripped and black with blood. "Damn," she muttered. "All right! Up with you now!" She coaxed the boys to their feet, positioning herself and Ron so that he never saw Fred lying lifeless behind her.

"Professor, my brothers…"

"I'll locate them in a moment. Help Mr. Malfoy along, won't you?"

"They can't be far. They were with us when –" Ron started to look behind him.

"Mr. Weasley! Don't argue with me! We don't know how many other hostiles may be about. Now, do as I say!"

Ron opened his mouth to protest, then as if on cue, Draco moaned and slumped against Ron's chest. That got Ron moving. McGonagall hustled them to the garden gate, then took a moment to Disillusion them. "Get inside. Hide in the shadows, and keep quiet!"

"Yes ma'am," Ron said. He pushed the heavy iron gate open, far enough for him and Draco to squeeze through. Once inside his chest tightened in dismay. The courtyard was a disaster of bodies and rubble. He pushed the gate closed then leaned against it, pulling Draco with him. "You okay?" He asked.

"No…but I've been worse." Draco shuddered. The dark, the bodies, and the fear, it took him back to when the Dark Lord had come to Malfoy Manor.

"Fred can be a real prick sometimes, but he and George had better be all right. Where does McGonagall get off treatin' us like toddlers? I say we go back –"

"No!" Draco said, determined to spare Ron. He had seen what McGonagall hadn't wanted the Gryffindor to see: George kneeling next to Fred, Fred's insides on the outside, a ruin of blood, flesh, and intestines. George's face had been pale and slack beneath red-black splatters of Fred's blood; George's chest had heaved as though he was screaming, but no sound had issued from his mouth. "I know you're worried about your brothers, but I think we should head toward the main courtyard; that's where the fight is."

"But they –"

"By now McGonagall has probably taken them to another part of the castle, or somewhere else safe."

"Well, what about your shoulder?"

Draco frowned. "I can still fight, Weasley. I'm not helpless."

"I know…" Ron said quickly. "It's just – This – This really sucks," he said hoarsely. "Bloody war, all these bodies… How many you figure we know? Think Millicent Bulstrode is here? Or Seamus? Ja –"

"Stop!"

"I – Sorry. …Gods, I wish I could see you." Ron gently shifted his fingers, feeling around until he found Draco's mouth. Draco turned his face into Ron's palm and kissed it, and Ron knew in that instant that anything Draco ever asked him to do, he would do. "I –" he began.

"Don't!" Draco said harshly. "The second this is over, and the Dark – The second he's dead, you can say it."

Ron leaned forward to press his forehead against Draco's. "I-I've never said it to anyone, not Lavender, not even Luna."

"I know."

*WO

**Courtyard, Hogwarts**_**…4:25 a.m.**_

Screams and howls bled in from the east, from the garden gate entrance. Voldemort said, "Gibbon! You there…and you! Run and see what our werewolf friends have turned up."

"As you wish, my lord!" Boomed a raspy voice—Gibbon.

"Yes, my lord."

"Right away, my lord."

Harry recognized those young-sounding voices, Derrick and Higgs. They had been in school when Harry came to Hogwarts. Derrick, who had been in Percy Weasley's year and was cursed with an asthmatic wheeze that could be heard for miles, was instantly recognizable.

"What do you think is happening, my lord?" Wormtail wrung his hands and stared at Harry, his rattish eyes wild, insane. "Do you think he's summoned the others? The werewolf, Black?"

Voldemort ignored him, seemed not to even hear him. The captives had become restless, again, questions and suppositions bouncing from row to row: "I ain't seen McGonagall of late. Ya think it's her givin'em what for?"

"Could be 'er. Ya gotta figger there's more o' us out there…"

"If there is they need to do something quick fast and in a hurry!"

"I hear you, man. I hear you."

"Shut them up!" Voldemort snarled at his people. The buzz petered off as chokeholds tightened and threats of death muttered. At least two were carried out.

That clinched it for Rolanda Hooch. Her body burned from her neck to her toes. Her arms, trapped behind her back, and her legs, folded beneath her, were numb and useless. Being on her knees was not only a misery because of the chill, unforgiving ground, but because being at the feet of this lot revolted her. And listening to Voldemort threaten Harry and Severus made her want to claw the dark wizards eyes out then spit in the empty pits after driving the stiletto heel of her boot into them.

Earlier, she had cursed Dennis Creevey a stupid boy when he spat at Voldemort. She thought he had acted too soon, too rashly. Everyone had still been in shock, coming face to face with Dark Lord, the spectre of the wizarding world for all these long years. No one had had it in their mind to fight back—but now, with Harry tied to those thestrals and Snape at Voldemort's feet, people had reached their limit, resentful at being treated (and behaving) like sheep.

Hooch kept the scheme simple. She sniffed, then inhaled sharply as if about to sneeze. Her Death Eater dug the tip of his wand deeper into the bruise he had created hours ago. "I have to sneeze you gormless twat!" She hissed at him, then inhaled sharply again, rocking her head back, before imitating a loud sneeze.

The Death Eater's grip had grown lax and cramped in the hours they had been out there, so his fingers slipped easily from the neck of her robes as she jerked forward. The instant he leaned to reclaim her she drove her upper body back. Ignoring the steely numbness in her legs and arms she slammed her head into his belly, then she hooked her elbow back, targeting the jiggly bits between his legs. She made the blow even more painful by angling down, then jamming her elbow upward, using her left hand like a piston.

The Death Eater (who had difficulty urinating for months after) didn't have the breath to shriek. He simply collapsed red-faced and wheezing, crushing her like a hen's egg beneath a walrus. Hooch grunted, then using what was left of her strength she twisted from beneath him, plucking his wand from his hand in the process. She wavered on her deadened knees as she aimed: "_Petrificus Totalus!"_ she cried, but a stronger curse had already been loosed. It hit her between her shoulders, dropping her on top of the Death Eater.

Hooch lay dead, but her scheme had worked. Things spiraled with a quickness as people began to rise up.

*WO

**Hermione, Savage, and Buckbeak, Skies Over Hogwarts**_**…4:31 a.m.**_

Hermione steered Buckbeak over the rear of the castle, piloting him toward the main courtyard. Savage sat behind her, decidedly more comfortable on Buckbeak now; a number of Adar Llwch Gwin flanked them. Once she and Savage located the beasts it had taken a long, frustrating hour to convince them to help. It might have been easier earlier on, but after losing their Elder, the creatures did not look favorably upon witches and wizards or their petty contest. The only reason they didn't kill Hermione and Savage on sight was Buckbeak's presence.

"Oh, god!" Hermione said, eyes widening in horror when Hooch fell over dead. Then the courtyard erupted into chaos and she spotted him. "Harry!" She screamed, so piercingly Savage looked down.

He winced. The Potter boy lie spread-eagled, his arms and legs stretched out by the lines tied around them. Screaming, Hermione threw herself forward, arms outstretched, oblivious to the fact that they were hundreds of feet up in the air. Savage grabbed her as she slid sideways. "Hang on, girl!" he barked. Then he spotted Snape. The man was on the ground next to Voldemort, curled in on himself. As Savage watched, Voldemort stooped down to get a grip on Snape's hair, then pulled the man up roughly. "Bloody fuck…" Savage growled.

"Harry!" Hermione struggled against Savage's hold.

"Aderyn!" Savage called. The Adar Llwch Gwin's newly crowned elder dipped her wings to edge in close. "Do you think you can free the boy? Rip into those tethers?"

Aderyn turned her head toward the others and shouted. "Fulton! Avis! The black winged beasts, free them of those tethers! Let no harm come to the plentyn!*"

"Aderyn!" Savage called again. "Tell them to be careful of the man in black. He's the boy's father!"

"We heard him, Gwr-teyrn!*" Avis shouted.

"Have the others reached the grounds?" Savage asked. Aderyn flapped her wings and soared skyward. She released a loud, brittle cry, like an ill-used bicycle horn. When a similar cry sounded from the east side of the castle, she shouted at the Auror, "They have arrived and attacked, Baron Brân Savage!"

Savage had begged the animals not to address him so formally, as no one beyond anyone in the Auror Corps knew of his title, but being Welsh born themselves the Adar Llwch Gwin insisted on respecting Savage's ancestral lineage. Acknowledging the elder with a nod, Savage grasped Hermione to him and swatted Buckbeak's hindquarters. They needed to land.

*WO

**The Giants****…**_**4:40 a.m.**_

The instant Harry and Snape left Dumbledore's office last June the headmaster set up meetings with a cross-section of magical creatures. The Merchieftainess in the Black Lake was first on his list. The next day he strode into the Forbidden Forest to speak with Grawp. Having the giant stay on had been Hagrid's idea; Dumbledore had agreed, seeing the wisdom in keeping him close.

Following the disastrous end to the Triwizard Tournament, Dumbledore began a monthly correspondence with Olympe Maxime. She had pledged to assist if ever Dumbledore summoned her. His call to action had been Hedwig bringing the news of Hagrid's death. The news had devastated Maxime. At Dumbledore's request, she journeyed to the Pyrenees—giant country, what was left of it. Her ties to the giants were strained, barely enough to get a meeting after years of keeping her distance, of downplaying, often outright denying her roots—but she managed.

Convincing the Gurg that the coming war should worry him took a fortnight. In their coarse, guttural speech she told him: "Sit out this battle if you want, but should the dark wizard win, come next spring, maybe even as early as this winter, you and your giants will be ash, your bones pieces for Muggle scientists to puzzle over. You think he's harmless now because he is across the mountains, across the water, but know that the instant he conquers Britain, Portugal, Spain, and your precious mountains are next. Unless he's stopped, he'll leave nowhere to retreat, nowhere to hide."

Giants had a long storied history of fighting amongst themselves like rabid dogs, but no tiny, red-eyed wizard was going to make their race extinct. So it was that five of the Gurg's fiercest giants emerged from the Forbidden Forest chanting, "Fram! Fram! Fram!"

Grawp, some twenty feet shorter than the others, had a tiny pink umbrella tucked into the wide battle belt slung over his right shoulder. Madam Maxime, her hair pulled back into a sleek chignon, her hawkish gaze radiating cold, sat atop a palomino Abraxan near Grawp's calf. Like Grawp, she sported a souvenir of Hagrid's—the tie he had worn to the Yule Ball. She had looped the gaudy yellow, polka-dotted material around her neck like a chic scarf. Instead of looking ridiculous, she managed to look like royalty about to set out on a fox hunt.

"Passavant li meillor!*" She bellowed before driving her heels into the sides of her steed. The animal reared back on its hind legs, its muscular forelegs peddling the air. Then it charged forward. The earth trembled as the giants followed at a run.

*WO

**Draco, Ron, Garden Gate near the North Tower**_**…4:42 a.m.**_

Ron and Draco released one another when they heard the loud beat of wings near the Divination Tower. A moonbeam pierced the thickening cloud cover, temporarily illuminating two shapes: one large and man-sized, and one small, with bushy hair. They were dismounting a hippogriff.

"Herm –"

Draco elbowed Ron sharply. "Don't call attention to them!" He hissed. "Let's get closer."

They held hands to keep track of one another as they maneuvered over the rubble and bodies to get to Hermione and Savage.

"Those were some friends of mine that took care of them." Ron and Draco heard Savage say as they came to a stop.

"Oh, aye, my lord? Sounded bloody." Another male voice responded.

"It bloody well better have," Savage said and Draco realized Savage was talking to a statue, the lone survivor of Sir Iacchus's guard. It sat propped up against the spell-pocked castle wall, its left arm gone, as well as a chunk of its head, made the left rear of its skull look as if it had been neatly sheared off at a fifty-degree angle.

"Hermione!" Ron called.

She and Savage whipped around, Savage swinging his wand, searching for a target.

"Wait!" Ron said, holding out his right hand, as if to ward off Savage's attack.

"Ron?"

"Yeah… It's me. And Malfoy. McGonagall Disillusioned us."

"Ron? And Draco?" Hermione began pawing at the air in the direction of Ron's voice.

"Yes, Granger!" Draco snarled.

"Well, where are you?" Hermione jumped when she felt a hand take hers. "Brân, they're here!" She held up her hand.

"_Finite_," Savage said, and Ron shimmered into sight. He said it again, aiming at Ron's hand, and Draco appeared. Hermione threw her arms around Ron.

"What's happening in there?" Draco asked Savage, pointing toward the main courtyard.

Having watched Draco interact with Harry and Snape in the staff lounge, Savage knew the boy would be annoyed by anything less than the truth. "They've got Potter trussed up to four thestrals," he said.

"What!" Ron shouted as Hermione began sobbing. "Why?"

Draco had fallen back a step as if he was about to pass out. Savage moved to steady him, grasping his uninjured shoulder. He nodded at the bloodied one. "That needs looking after."

"I'm fine. W-What about Severus? Is he out there?"

"Aye." Savage growled. "Voldemort had his hands on him…"

Draco moved toward the main courtyard. Savage gripped his shoulder again to stop him. "We have to get them out of there." Draco glared at Savage, daring the man to contradict him.

"Yes, but we can't go in half-cocked," Savage said.

"If ye'll help me to my feet, I'll be glad to take the for'ard position, milord," said the statue.

Savage turned to the statue. "Your valor is appreciated, but you're not exactly in fighting shape. I couldn't ask you –"

"Beggin' your pardon, milord, but you're not askin'. Thing is, I'm tellin' you I'm goin'. I been a steward of this castle since Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin laid her first stone and it'd be a crime again' the four of'em for me to sit here and watch young'uns do the work I was cast to do." The statue held out its right hand.

Savage shook his head, then turned to Ron. "Give me a hand." Ron pushed, Savage pulled until the statue was standing.

"Fine work, young sir, milord," the statue said, steadying itself. "I'm called Fearghas."

Savage nodded. "It's an honor, Fearghas. And please, I'm no lord."

The statue looked at him. Savage just managed not to squirm beneath Fearghas's blinded gaze that saw much, regardless. "My apologies fer distressin' you milord, but I can tell a nobleman a county away."

"Someone's coming!" Draco hissed. He had moved up to peer around the Divination Tower.

Savage dashed forward, followed closely by Fearghas. Savage darted his head out to see around the tower as Draco had. Three Death Eaters were running toward them. "Get behind me!" He hissed.

"No!" said Draco.

"He's right," said Hermione, wiping away tears as she ran to join them, her wand out. "We've trained for this."

"Training and doing are two different things!" Savage said as Ron trailed Hermione.

"We've no time to debate it, good sir," said Fearghas. He cocked his head. "A hundred paces, they're but a hundred short paces from us."

Savage made a noise of irritation. "Damn it! No one move until I say so!"

*WO

**Hogwarts' Gates…**_**4:47 a.m.**_

The Death Eater sentries at the entrance gates never knew what hit them. The deafening _crack_of numerous people Apparating at once raised the alarm, but too late. Madam Rosmerta, Ambrosius Flume, Aurors Williamson and Proudfoot, alongside Bram Nott and three other Death Eaters already had their wands out, spells flying. And they had help.

*WO

**Lucius**_**…4:52 a.m.**_

The Dark Lord was looking for him. Lucius knew this because he had killed the poor bastard sent to find him. When he saw the giants slog out of the forest, and when Bram Nott—_Bram Nott!_—and the others took out the guards at the entrance gates, Lucius knew the battle was done.

He had wanted to win this war, had even believed they had been _destined_ to win this war—but unlike the Dark Lord, he had learned never to underestimate Harry Potter. The boy was young and laughably unskilled, yet his dumb luck always won out. It seemed this battle was no exception. However, Lucius had decided that he wouldn't be rounded up and sent to Azkaban; he wouldn't have his mind and body rot year after year in that dementor-infested madhouse until death was a mercy, and nor would he stick around to be killed. Life was too precious, his more than most.

This battle had been lost, but he would survive to fight another day—even if the Dark Lord didn't. And if it came to that, he had work to do, followers to cull, to groom. Without a backward glance he whipped off his mask and turned on his heel disappearing with a _crack_.

*WO

**Hogwarts' Gates…**_**4:57 a.m.**_

"Did you hear that? Someone Apparated!"

"S'hardly a concern. If they're gone, good riddance," said John Dawlish. "Let's just get shut of this lot, shall we?" He waved his wand at the unconscious Death Eaters.

"Dad?" A voice came out of the dark.

"Bill? Bill!" Arthur embraced Bill hard when his son ran up to him. After a moment Arthur pushed back to look at him. "Have you seen Ron, Fred, George…your mother?"

"Saw Ron hours ago when things first started popping, nothing since then, though."

"Was that you that Apparated?"

"No –"

"Did you hear _that_?"

"What now, Proudfoot?" Dawlish snarled. "Faeries flitting about?"

"No, you arse! I heard growling, from over there…" Proudfoot pointed toward the lake.

"Could be a giant," said Madam Rosmerta.

"No, I heard it too," said Nott, squinting into the dark. "Sounded like the Dark Lord's dogs."

"Werewolves?" said Arthur.

"Aye," said Marcus Flint, one of Nott's Death Eaters. "I'd know that sound in my sleep. Sounds like they're on the run—but the battle's back at the castle."

"Damn." Someone muttered.

Kingsley spoke: "Look, there are thirteen of us. We spread out, take down whatever we find, but someone needs to stay here, look after the gates, see that no one slips through. Rosmerta, Flume –"

"And Williamson," said Nott.

"What? Why?" Williamson gaped at his godfather.

"Because I said so."

Kingsley knew the relationship between the two men, and while he disagreed, (he had trained Williamson after all) they didn't have time for family squabbles. Besides, staying here might be more dangerous than pursuing the werewolves. Should the beasts make it past their net, they might flee to the gates for a way out. The more Kingsley thought about it, having Williamson remain here might work out for the best.

"Williamson, stay," he said when the young Auror opened his mouth to protest.

"But, sir!" Williamson cried.

"Selby," said Nott, in the voice he had often used when Williamson's behavior was out of bounds—not that Williamson needed it; Kingsley's disapproving scowl was enough.

"Yes, sir," he said quickly. "Staying here to guard the gate, sir."

"Bill, Proudfoot, and I will take the lake. Arthur, you and you –" Kingsley pointed at the other two nameless Death Eaters who then volunteered their names, Davis (Tracey Davis's dad) and Jugson, "– take the middle. Bogrod, Bram, Percy and Flint, head east."

Bogrod the Bearded lifted the ram's horn hanging from his belt. He put it his lips and blew out four sharp blasts. Goblins, a host of them, began popping into sight. Bogrod shouted something in Gobbledygook and the short, dark-skinned creatures fanned out, so quickly, even Kingsley lost track.

"Are we to hang about here with our cocks out, waiting for the others to arrive, Shacklebolt?" Bogrod asked snidely.

"Assuming you've got a cock, no." Kingsley narrowed his eyes at the goblin, questioning, not for the first time, the wisdom of involving the wily creatures. "All of you stay sharp!" He quickly added when Bogrod opened his mouth in retort. "And get rid of those Death Eater masks!"

*WO

**Harry**_**…5:10 a.m.**_

Wormtail had snapped.

"Why are you here? You _can't_ be here! I killed you! I killed you!" He shouted, then he kicked Harry, landing a perfectly devastating blow to the boy's right ear. "All those years you let Sirius belittle me behind my back, to my face! You let him treat me worse than a house-elf!" He kicked Harry again. "How I hated you for that. But I showed you, James, didn't I? In the end, I showed you!"

When Wormtail kicked him this time Harry saw flashing pinpricks of white light; nausea and a high-pitched whine ringing in his ear accompanied that light. His body spasmed and he threw up, but because he was flat on his back he couldn't empty his mouth; he began to choke.

Agony. His magic began ballooning inside him. Wormtail's kicks had hurt; Snape screaming for him hurt; choking on his own vomit hurt; yet none of it compared to his magic bursting free. The thestrals, terrified by the chaos of the battle and the impossible pull of Harry's magic, pranced, putting more strain on the tethers, wrenching Harry's arms and legs in increasingly painful angles.

As the thestrals pulled and Wormtail drew his foot back for another kick, Harry closed his eyes.

*WO

**Hedwig…**_**5:13 a.m.**_

Hedwig spotted Harry. Wormtail was steps away from the boy's head; Harry was looking up at him, confused. When the man's face twisted and he kicked Harry in the head, Hedwig let out a strangled, infuriated screech. She dropped into a dive, slicing through the air like a bullet, wings tight against her body. Wormtail kicked Harry once more. Feet from the man's balding pate she spread her wings, then she abruptly slowed her speed, switching direction, coming in feet first.

Wormtail shrieked and collapsed to his knees as Hedwig's talons dug into his forehead and scalp, peeling away strips of flesh and wispy strands of gray hair. He fell to the ground wailing, trying to curl into a protective ball as Hedwig danced on his head, loosening more flaps of skin with each step. He brought his hands up to cover his head, but Jarek, Hedwig's handsome snowy mate, attacked, clawing at Wormtail's hands. When the man tried batting the owl away, Jarek used the opening to rip at Wormtail's face. After two attempts, he quickly blinded the sobbing man by tearing out his right eye.

*WO

**Snape**_**…5:13 a.m.**_

"Harry!" Snape croaked, voice wrecked from shouting the boy's name. Peter Pettigrew was raving at Harry; then the wizard kicked him in the head.

Snape reeled as the world flashed white. He couldn't move, but various ways of killing Pettigrew came at him in a rush: He saw himself mauling Pettigrew's throat with his fingers, shredding the cartilage, grinding it into powder. He saw himself propping a funnel into Pettigrew's open mouth, pumping the wizard full of a cocktail of Acromantula and Black Mamba venom until it seeped out of every orifice. He saw himself sawing off Pettigrew's privates with a dull rock, then stuffing them down the man's gullet with the business end of a flanged mace. Yet, he could do none of those things lying on the ground, still weak from Voldemort's _Crucios_.

Instead, he watched, stone-faced as Hedwig and another snowy owl lit into Pettigrew. Snape didn't fault the birds for only blinding the man and making a meal of his skull; they had limits, but the little maggot was still writhing and squalling, still breathing.

Snape had an idea. He didn't know if he could do it without his wand, but he whispered the words anyway, putting every bit of the icy hatred he had for Pettigrew behind them: "_Avada Kedavra!_" His eyes followed the green light's path, impressed, as it sliced into Wormtail's paunch. The bloody craters that used to shelter the cowardly wizard's eyes seemed to widen in surprise as he fell backward.

*WO

**Harry**_**…5:17 a.m.**_

Harry didn't see the owls on Wormtail; he didn't see the man fall dead either—he had his own worries. Since learning of his wandless magic he had never plumbed its true depths, content to use no more than was needed for whatever spell, charm, or curse he wanted. He had, essentially, domesticated it, and now, it flared wild, unstoppable, and all-consuming. He didn't know if he would survive it—but he wanted to find out.

_Right then_, he thought. _What can you do?_

The spread of it burned with a heat that shocked a breath into him and cleared his mouth and throat of everything he had sicked up. His body jerked and he cried out as his magic shot out from his heart, radiating into his stomach, his arms, legs, hands, and feet. He lost his voice when it exploded out of his mouth in a shockwave. It disintegrated the tethers binding his wrists and ankles, then lifted him up to stand.

Fighting in the courtyard stopped. People recoiled, shielding their faces from the blinding bluish glare. The thestrals took flight, but they didn't leave; they circled overhead, like black omens caught in a maelstrom. Harry felt a pang, wondering if his magic had trapped them there. But then he felt himself rising, too.

He looked down. Everyone was looking up at him; Snape and Voldemort had the same gobsmacked expressions—but Voldemort's was odd, nearly indecipherable. Harry eventually realized it was fear.

Voldemort was scared.

*WO

**Voldemort**_**…5:25 a.m.**_

Voldemort's mind flooded with questions: How was Potter flying without a broom? What else could he do? And why hadn't _he_ known? He burned for an explanation, but instead of dwelling on it, he took flight, following in Harry's wake.

Once he was in the air, though, he wondered if he shouldn't have stayed on the ground. He now had a bird's eye view of his people falling (and fleeing) in alarming numbers. As he flew higher, a massive vibration rumbled through the night air, coming from the southwest: "_Fram! Fram! Fram!"_ He turned. Giants. Damn it! He had sent two envoys to the Pyrenees—one last summer following the Battle at the Department of Mysteries, and another in January. Both had transmitted word of their arrival, but owls from the Riddle House requesting their progress had come back, the requests unopened, the parchment red with blood.

The tide of the battle had shifted. The horrid caw of the Adar Llwch Gwin sounded way off in the east, far from captives they should have been decimating; the flying catapults had been set ablaze, disabling them; and in the main courtyard, captives were turning on their Death Eater guards. White masks slew more than a score of the rebels. They were wandless and had resorted to Muggle-style fighting in defense, but they were soon joined by more rebels Apparating in. A mix of brown Auror robes, with robes of gray, evergreen, blue and violet from other Ministry departments appeared first. Unbelievably, four Death Eater cloaks came next, Bram Nott at the fore. And Merlin, were those _goblins_?

A smaller number of invaders infiltrated from the east, from the direction Gibbon, Derrick, and Higgs had gone. Draco Malfoy was among the group, his blond hair so starkly obvious it was like spotting the Golden Snitch. The boy's left arm hung limply at his side, but he still fought; a tall red-haired boy was at his back hexing anyone that strayed close to them. Another Auror, accompanied by a bushy head of chestnut-colored hair, threaded his way through the melee, downing every white mask that got in his way; he was heading for Snape, it seemed; the girl was looking skyward, her eyes on Harry.

Losing the war would stick in Voldemort's craw, like an anaconda choking on a mouse, but he didn't dare leave Potter alive. It would be akin to lying down and offering the boy his throat. There would be no surrender. Potter had to die.

"_Avada Kedavra!_"

*WO

**Harry**_**…5:28 a.m.**_

Like any rational person, Harry flinched as the green light raced toward him, but then something queer happened—his magic absorbed the curse like parched land devouring a drop of water. Afterwards a burning sensation dragged at his attention: Lily's medallion. It was suddenly scorching his skin. He hissed and opened his fist as if to drop it, but the second he tilted his hand, the burning stopped. The coin still glowed red, but the searing heat was gone; it now felt coolly innocuous, as if he had just pulled the metal from his pocket.

Without knowing why, he wrapped the chain around his fingers and cupped the medallion within his palm. He then thrust his arm forward, toward Voldemort, palm out. Voldemort didn't flinch, but his eyes narrowed in wary expectation. He waited, eyes tracking the swinging motion of the coin as it dangled from the end of the chain. After several minutes of nothing happening, he burst out laughing.

Harry frowned, pulling his hand back to look down at the medallion. He stared at it as if for answers. Then it pulsed golden, and people—everyone that had loved, protected, and died for him—flashed through his mind like the flickering of a movie projector: Sirius, tall, grinning, and breathtaking transformed into Padfoot. James, messy-haired and twenty-one years of age, stood with an arm around Lily's shoulders. Tonks, head topped with electric-blue hair, doubled over laughing as Padfoot streaked off after an even more massive canine shape that had startling amber-colored eyes.

Then Hagrid appeared. The big man threw an enthusiastic wave at Harry then put his dust bin-sized hands to his chest, as though giving thanks—or an apology, Harry realized. Grief steamrolled him as he recalled Hagrid's last words to him: "Yeh'll see me Harry, promise. I'll be here when term b'gins." Harry smiled at him, tears streaming down his cheeks; he shook his head, letting Hagrid know it was okay, that he understood. Hagrid grinned and nodded then tossed a stick for Padfoot to fetch.

Dumbledore joined the group last. Harry reached out as Dumbledore reached out to him. Newly dead, he was more present than the others—and Harry could hear him: "Love, Harry, remember, love_…_" Dumbledore said before fading away, fingers inches from Harry's.

The sound of Voldemort still laughing brought Harry back to himself. He opened his eyes and the medallion reacted again. The tiny lightning bolts representing Snape's initials blazed silver.

"Touch him—touch him and I'll burn you alive," Snape had said to Voldemort.

Harry looked up into Voldemort's laughing face. _Burn_. Would it work? There was only one way to know. "Please let this work," he whispered hoarsely. This made Voldemort laugh harder, long body rocking back and forth with vicious glee. When the wizard rocked forward, Harry slapped the medallion against his forehead.

The Dark Lord fell silent, mid-laugh.

*WO

**Snape**_**…5:21 a.m.**_

Snape watched terrified. Harry was flying. His hair stuck straight out, like a black, prickly halo as he held the medallion to Voldemort's skin. God, Dumbledore had been right. The boy was powerful beyond anything he had ever seen, but powerful or not, he was still Snape's son. He was still the sixteen year-old who sometimes needed to be carried to bed after falling asleep on the sofa; he was still the klutzy thing who tripped over a bit of lint; and he still had a stubborn streak the size of the cosmos. But more than anything he was the boy Snape would gladly give his last breath to protect.

Feeling a bit steadier, Snape focused on Voldemort. "_Avada Kedavra!_" The green light wended its way toward the Dark Lord, but just as Harry's magic had absorbed Voldemort's Killing Curse, Snape's curse rebounded off their combined magic, knocking him off his feet.

*WO

**Courtyard, Hogwarts**_**  
**_

Spellbound. Everyone stared up at the two wizards, many wondering: Could Harry Potter finish what he had started sixteen years ago? Could He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named be killed once and for all?

*WO

**Voldemort**_**…5:31 a.m.**_

Pain.

The medallion seared a one-inch diameter into Voldemort's skin, but the pain scattered, cleaving onto every nerve ending in his body. As the sensation swept through him, thick red tears began streaming down his cheeks. When the coin suddenly burned white, he doubled over and hacked up a dark clot of blood. Horrified and confused, he raised his head to stare at Harry, who stared right back. The dark wizard moaned, tormented when he began coughing up a gray powdery substance.

At Hogwarts, he had been an exceptional student, "one of the most brilliant", according to Dumbledore, so when he saw the powder, he understood what was happening.

"NO!"

He pressed his hand to his stomach as something large assembled itself in his gut. Once the thing took shape, it quickly traveled up, its clawed edges snagging holes into his esophageal lining before lodging in his throat. His eyes bulged. He couldn't breathe. He raised his hands, digging at his neck, dying to empty his gullet, despite the thing still forcing its way up. He retched when something wriggling filled his mouth, scratching at his tongue, thumping against his teeth, wanting out. He looked down as it passed his distended lips: fingers. He tried to scream but he could only heave as he vomited them up in a long, squelchy gob, until a pale hand with a severed wrist emerged. As the hand plummeted to the ground, it turned black with decay.

Sapped of energy, Voldemort gasped, hung his head. "No," he whispered weakly. He had nothing more to give, he thought. But his chest constricted, one last time. A band of iron seemed to surround his heart, crushing it, forcing him to wheeze out a spray of fine red droplets. The droplets fell upon his exposed skin making it sizzle and melt. He screamed then. His regal silver robes turned black, the tailored lines distorted as the silk sagged, blood-logged. Harry recoiled, gagging. The stench was like that of a thousand rotting corpses as the Dark Lord expelled everything he had taken from others to revive his body two years ago.

He screamed, "NO!", until his flesh disintegrated, until it became desiccated and flaky, like dried, discarded corn husks.

*WO

**Snape**_**…5:39 a.m.**_

Dead. The Dark Lord, Tom Marvolo Riddle, was dead. Snape staggered to his feet, his head tilted back, his eyes on Harry.

*WO

**Harry…**_**5:40 a.m.**_

Dizziness, nausea, and exhaustion hit Harry with the force of ten Bludgers. All he wanted was to close his eyes and sleep for a week, forget the sight of Dennis falling dead, of Michael Corner crashing face-first into the ground, of Parvati's swinging braid as she ushered children into the sheds—but he forced them to stay open. He had to be sure there was nothing left of Voldemort to resurrect. Between wearied blinks his eyes followed the dark wizard's fragile ash-like remains as they drifted. He allowed a small, tired smile when the wind gusted, hastening their fall.

Seconds later, Harry fell, too.

*WO

*Plentyn – Welsh for child.

*Gwr-teyrn – Welsh for over-leaders.

*Passavant li meillor! – Let the best pass first! _War cry of the counts of Champagne_.


	32. Chapter 32

Disclaimer: JK Rowling's characters.

**Aftermath**

**The Great Hall, Hogwarts, June 1997 (06)**_**…6:12 a.m.**_

Perched at the rim of the castle's ruined entrance, Mandy Brocklehurst stared at the smoking rubble of Ravenclaw Tower, her home away from home for the past six years. Dawn was breaking in the east; Mandy thought it a shame. The night's waning cloak of violet should have dissolved into exhilarating streaks of grays, pinks, blues, and gold for Hogwart's warriors, her victors. Instead, evil-looking clouds barreled in from the south, dragging an undulating skirt of rain. Within moments the torrent heaved over the grounds, lashing the dead that still lay like broken puppets within the courtyard.

A streak of lightning lit up the Great Hall as a healer ran his wand up and down Harry's body. At the same time a mediwitch, gripping a pair of dull-nosed shears near Harry's neck, readied to cut his Quidditch kit off him.

"Come within a whisper of his skin with those things, and I will destroy you," Snape told her. His voice was ruined, as if he had just finished announcing a week-long Quidditch match, but the chill matter-of-factness of his words was unmistakable.

She paused, a dour-looking woman with deep-set lines around her eyes and mouth. She recognized Snape from pictures and articles in the _Prophet _from the late seventies, early eighties. _Ex_-Death Eater, indeed. He shouldn't be anywhere near Harry Potter, in her esteemed opinion (which no one who knew her dared solicit because her opinions rained like tears in Hell). She threw him a hateful look. Lucky for her Snape's eyes were on Harry, intensely monitoring the boy's face for the slightest sign of discomfort or consciousness.

"Carry on, Matilda," Galen said. The infuriating, yet highly competent mediwitch thinned her lips and returned to her task; Galen went to Snape. "Severus, you're in no fit state to be here, and frankly, you're in the way. Go. Let us do our job. You know we'll do our very best for Harry." He glanced at Snape's hands. "You really need to let Poppy take care of those."

"I want to be here when he opens his eyes."

"Of course, but that might not happen for a while and in the meantime, we're going to be doing some rather…unpleasant things to him."

"I've seen worse."

After an awkward silence, Galen said, "Perhaps, but none of those people was your son."

Snape tensed. His eyes narrowed to slits when a healer lifted each of Harry's eyelids before aiming the lighted end of her wand into his eyes, swinging it back and forth, then up and down. From where he stood Snape could see that Harry's pupils dominated, eclipsing the green of his iris, and they had no reaction to the light. God. That was a bad sign.

The mediwitch, having cut through Harry's jersey (while holding the metal high and away from Harry's flesh) began drawing the shears down his trousers, slitting them open from hip to calf to expose the mangled mess that was his left leg. The sight of Harry lying there, helpless and as close to death as Snape had ever seen him, poisoned any medically reasoned argument Galen might have tried to get Snape to leave the boy. No, he would be there until Harry woke, or until Harry breathed his last breath. "Anything you do to him, I will be here," he said. "Don't ask again."

Snape had a placid, rational vibe about him, but Galen knew it was an act, and should Harry take a turn for the worst… Aurors and other Ministry officials were still crawling around the castle so there was little chance of him harming anyone; but Galen left nothing to chance. When dealing with distraught parents he preferred to err on the side of caution. People lost their heads when it came to loved ones. Splitting his time between King's College Hospital in Muggle London and St. Mungo's, he saw such behavior often enough.

Galen lived to heal, but he hated this part of his work—the uncertainty of how a case would turn out, particularly one as devastating and as complicated as Harry's. He abhorred dashing parents' hopes, but he knew that no matter the evil Snape had seen and done while a Death Eater, it would prove poor preparation for losing his child should Harry die. Galen sighed. "You may stay, Severus, but you musn't interfere. The moment you do, I will put you out on your arse—former Death Eater or not." He muttered that last bit, but everyone heard it.

"Healer Brady!" The shears-wielding mediwitch snarled. Since there was obviously nothing to be done about Snape, she shot disdainful looks at Harry's other visitors.

Galen looked at Draco, Ron, and Hermione wrapped around one another. They all needed looking after, but he knew that like Snape they wouldn't want to leave Harry. They stood in the corner behind Snape, floating forward when room allowed, then shuffling out the way of the medicos when necessary.

"I can't work with all of these _people _standing around. Things are tight enough as it is," the mediwitch said.

"Yes, yes, Matilda! Your discontent has been bloody well noted!" Galen snapped. He hated to admit it, especially as she was such a crotchety old cow, but she was right. Despite the extra space he had configured to accommodate them all, it was still far too compact. "Some of you must leave." He held up a hand when the teens started to argue. "It doesn't matter who, but you can't all be here. We need room to work."

"I'm not leaving," said Draco, sticking out his pointed chin.

"Neither am I," said Hermione from within the circle of Ron's arms.

"Same for me," said Ron, his voice hoarse, eyes red and watery.

Galen turned to Snape. "Severus…"

Snape clenched his jaw. He looked over his shoulder at Draco. "No! Why do I –"

"Draco, please. For me… For Harry –" Snape's voice broke. Damn it, he was barely hanging on.

Draco gripped the man's wrist. "Merlin, I – …All right, fine, just – Severus…" He shot an evil look at the complaining mediwitch. "Whinging sow! What would you do if we were blocked up in a tunnel or something? You'd work it out then, wouldn't you? Precisely what do they teach you at mediwitch school? How to be cold-hearted bitches?" The mediwitch ignored him, busy coaxing the remains of Harry's Quidditch uniform from under him. Irritated, Draco said, "Weasley, Granger, come on."

"But –"

"Hermione," Ron said. "We'll see him in a bit, once they've got him all cleaned up, yeah?" She looked up at him and he nodded, forcing a profoundly ersatz smile to his lips. She leaned into him and he led her out. The instant they were outside, she began sobbing loudly. Draco said, "Severus, don't make me leave. I have as much right to be here as anyone. What if he –"

"What if he what?"

"What if he doesn't –"

Snape fixed Draco with a hard look. "Don't. Don't you dare. Don't you ever –"

"I didn't mean –"

"Yes you did."

"No! I –"

"Go, Draco. Now."

"No! Damn it! You don't have to do this by yourself."

"Yes, I do! However long it takes."

Draco grabbed Snape's arm. "Then let me wait with you. I want to be here when he wakes up. I'm part of this family, too!"

Snape winced. He turned to take Draco's face in his hands. Drawing the boy forward, he pressed his lips to the crown of Draco's head. Somewhere beneath the salty stink of sweat and grime, beneath the fear and anger, Snape smelled something sharp and clean, like fresh water and lemon: Draco. Snape's eyes watered.

"Yes, you are," he whispered as Draco linked his arms around him. "But, please, until they get Harry settled, please, please, please wait outside. As soon as they finish, you can come back. I dare say you need to be abed yourself. Look at you, you're far too pale and likely shocky –"

"Yes, yes, Healer Snape," Draco muttered into the man's chest. He turned his head to rest his left cheek over Snape's heart. He looked at Harry. A mediwitch—the whinging bitch in a wimple—was sponging at a puncture in Harry's left thigh that kept pumping out blood and Harry lay there, unmoving, unfeeling—completely oblivious. Draco frowned. Merlin! Was that a bit of _bone_ sticking out? He moaned and turned his head away. Snape held him tighter and pressed his lips to Draco's head again.

"Go," he said softly, his stomach clenching at what he knew Draco had seen. The young Slytherin hadn't the strength to argue and Ron had pulled the curtain aside, searching for him. Their eyes met and Ron held out his hand. Draco gave Snape a squeeze before letting go, then he limped toward Ron and took his hand.

*WO

**The Great Hall, Hogwarts, June 1997 (06)**_**…6:47 a.m.**_

The acrid funk of potions and blood and magic clogged Harry's senses, but none of it compared to the pain ruthlessly invading every cell of his body, blistering and flaring like a ruptured hot spot on the sun.

_Am I dead? Is this what death feels like?_

If so, then all the rot he'd heard about a white light and dead loved ones welcoming him with open arms was utter crap, and if not, then, sod it all, why didn't someone put him out of his misery? To test his aliveness, he tried to catch a breath. Big mistake. It hurt like hell—but it did prove he was alive, and ironically, to continue being alive his body required oxygen, so he tried inhaling the tiniest bit of air by gasping, but even that puny intake was a torment and his body began to shake uncontrollably. He tried to stop it, tried to calm himself because it hurt, damn it, it hurt!

Mercifully, within seconds, a blankness fell over him. Harry thought that was all right because there was no pain in the blankness, but then the blankness cleared and the pain came back, the tremors along with it. The blankness fell again and then again, but each time the fire in his bones battled back, hurting worse. Finally, a more complete blankness hit. Everything began to rush away in a soothing wash, the way nightmares faded upon waking, but his body still rallied, wanting air. But this time he ignored it, emptied his mind, preferring the rushing away sensation. Ah! That was the answer. Stop fighting the pain, let it go. He could do that. He could let go.

"Galen, his breathing… It's getting tackier, it…"

"What's happening?"

"Severus, step back! Make room for us to work!"

"Tell me what's happening!"

"Check his chest for blockage…"

"Not his chest, his brain is swelling!"

"Galen, he's fading…"

"No…"

"There's no pulse…"

"His neck, Jonesy… The wrist is no good. I think…"

"…Harry…"

"He's – Damn it!"

"Harry!"

"He's stopped breathing!"

"NO!"

*WO

**The Great Hall, Hogwarts, June 1997 (06)**_**…7:01 a.m.**_

The Great Hall was gone. The sounds, people screaming, sobbing, moaning—and the pain—ceased to exist because now Harry was somewhere else, somewhere calm and soothingly familiar. He looked around. He was in a room that appeared blurred, as if unfinished, but in the distance, he saw something moving toward him, two shapes. They quickly ventured close, closer until he was able to make out a black-haired man wearing wire-rimmed glasses. Alongside him was a red-haired woman with green eyes—Harry's eyes. The man and woman were smiling at him. Harry grinned back. They floated closer until finally they were a breath away from him. He reached out.

_I know you._

_Harry…_

His body tingled when they wrapped their arms around him, ran their fingers through his hair and stroked his face and kissed him. Kiss. Kiss. Kiss. Harry laughed. The red-haired woman's full lips curved up in a smile as she kissed him. Kiss. Kiss. Kiss. Harry touched her mouth.

_You're so pretty._

She laughed. The raucous tinkle transported Harry to that small cottage in Godric's Hollow, to that room with walls pasted over with flying golden Snitches. Familiar. Family.

_I want to stay here with you. _He suddenly decided.

The man took Harry into his arms. _No, darling. You can't._

_Why? _Harry looked up into the face that mirrored his own so closely one would think that James, not Lily, had given birth to him.

_It's not time, _the man said. _Not yet._

_But –_

_So beautiful, _the woman said._ Look at you. Love. Love you. We love you._

_Then why can't I stay?_

_Severus needs you._

_No! He'll be fine._

_He loves you so._

_I know. I love him, too, b-but I want to stay with _you_._

Still smiling, the woman and the man kissed him once more before they let him go.

_W-Where are you g-going?_

_Go home to Severus, Harry._

They began to move away as though they were being pulled from him. Or he from them.

_Wait! Why are you leaving? No. P-P-Please! Something's wrong… Don't go!_

Harry grabbed at his chest; it hurt. His ribs… His heart…

_D-Don't… leave… me!_

They were moving faster now, so fast he could no longer make them out. The moment they faded he felt a sharp throb, like a rending. God, his chest was really hurting! Then he was falling, falling back into that nightmarish miasma of racket and pain he had left only moments before.

His chest. Something was pressing on it, rhythmically and someone was chanting: _One-one thousand, two-one thousand, three-one thousand, four-one thousand, breathe! _A red shock singed his splintered bones, snapping him back to consciousness for a second time. His body, fighting his mind—which wanted to be still, to stop hurting—ignored him, desperate for the breath he couldn't manage earlier.

"Stop the compressions, Galen! He's breathing! He's back!"

That breath should have felt like the kiss of life, instead it burned, making Harry wish for death. He screamed, even though it tore up his throat and made him feel as if his body was being run through a wood chipper.

"Harry! Harry! Oh, my god!" Hermione, followed by Ron and Draco, ripped the curtain aside and charged into the space.

Harry went on the screaming. The pain, circular and vicious, fed off of itself. Then his body went rigid, teeth grinding against one another as he began making an incoherent buzzing sound.

"What's wrong? What's wrong with him?" Snape demanded.

"Seizure…" Galen muttered. "Damn it!" Harry began to shake, the bed vibrating beneath the force of his body.

"Oh, my god!" Hermione screamed and rushed forward.

"No! You mustn't touch him!" A mediwizard grabbed her, his grip pinching her arm. She cried out and kicked him in the shin.

"Get your hands off of her!" Ron growled, slapping the mediwizard's hand from around Hermione's arm; he shoved the startled man back.

"Severus, why won't it stop?" Draco whispered. He turned on Galen. "Why don't you _do_ something? You're the healer! What fucking good are you standing there letting him suffer like that?!"

Galen watched Harry, ready to intervene if he stopped breathing, again. "There's nothing I can do. He just has to… go through it."

"This is unbearable, fucking unbearable!" Ron groaned, tears running down his cheeks, his arms around a frantic Hermione. Draco agreed. He was about to unload on Galen again when Harry stilled. His eyes flew open and rolled to the left to connect with Snape's.

_Daddy…_

Snape jerked as his mind was invaded. "Harry?"

Another fiery lance of pain shot through Harry's body. This time he simply exhaled a truncated breath as his brain shut off.

*WO

**The Great Hall, Hogwarts, June 1997 (06)** _**…3:07 p.m. **_**(Entry from Snape's diary)**

_Harry's sleeping. That's what Galen tells me, but he's truly in a sort of coma—something Galen suggested until the specialist arrived. Shacklebolt had to arrange a special Portkey to get him here then he and Galen began working on Harry a little after 7:00 a.m. He agreed with Galen that Harry should remain asleep. They finished at 10:30, or so. He is hooked up to a machine that is breathing for him—life support, a Muggle contraption. At the specialist's suggestion, they put a halo on my son's head, one of those metallic things, another Muggle contraption. Not that I'm complaining, they're keeping him still and alive, it's just, he looks like Frankenstein's monster with all this…stuff attached to him. And with all of his hair gone he looks so frighteningly small._

_I want so desperately to talk to him again. I want to hear his voice, even if it's just in my head. I've tried insinuating myself into his mind as he did when he called for me, but all I encounter is a dark nothingness, an unending chasm. Where is he? "Daddy", he cried. God, it was horrible, but I don't know what was worse: Having him call for me or the relief I felt that he had. Galen had said that after such trauma to his head, Harry might not recognize me. Daddy… What pain must he have been in, how terribly it must have hurt for him to call me that, and he sounded so young. He sounded as I imagine he must have sounded to James Potter when Harry was a toddler. God, I can't think about that._

_Muggles believe people in comas can still hear, can understand, but it seems Harry can't. Always the exception, my son. But does that mean his brain is dead? That it will never heal? I don't believe that. I won't believe it. Galen would tell me if Harry had no chance of surviving. Yet I can't help the niggling thought that he's irreparably damaged. He would respond to me otherwise. I know he would._

_Poppy finally managed to dose Draco with a Calming Draught. After hours of him refusing it, I had her spike his tea. The little fool, he was so distraught and exhausted that he fell asleep immediately. I was glad of it. It allowed Poppy to tend his wounds, which were worse than we knew. Draco tried to protect young Mr. Weasley, Ron, when one of the Adar Llwch Gwin's talons clipped him as it was going for one the werewolves. He'll have a scar on his shoulder unless he requests its removal. He's in a sling now and he'll be working with a therapist from St. Mungo's to ensure he regains full mobility, but he's never complained. I admire him so. He's made such strides since last summer._

_Miss Granger lies a bed over, bracketed by her parents. After Harry's seizure they asked Galen to give her a Calming Draught as well. We're all overtired and overstressed, but seeing Harry in the grip of something so horrid, she couldn't bear it. I sympathize utterly._

_I went more than a little mad myself._

S~

*WO

**The Great Hall, Hogwarts, June 1997 (08)**_** …7:42 p.m. **_**(Entry from Snape's diary)**

_Harry sleeps, still, but he's making tiny movements with his lips, as if he's grimacing. It likely has more to do with the painful process of his bones healing than with him beginning to awaken. He'll suffer that pain over this next week, Galen believes, but he says Harry's reaction is a hopeful sign. I've tried talking to him, again, but there's still a relentless nothing when I probe his mind._

_Draco loathes this waiting; he loathes sitting and watching; he loathes the staff swarming around Harry's bed, pricking him with strange instruments and dosing him with potion after potion after potion. His frustration is nothing to do with Harry, though. He wants Harry to wake up. He wants Harry whole. He wants someone to pick on, he says._

_He keeps close to me. It's comforting, but sometimes he looks at me, as if he's trying to reconcile something. I've asked him to speak his mind, but he just shakes his head and leans against me. We've a small sofa here now in place of those ghastly hospital chairs. It provides a soft spot to stretch out. Sometimes Draco sits with me and sleeps in my arms, like a child. He has nightmares, calling out for Lucius, begging him not to kill Narcissa. Lucius. How could he?_

_For all my sins, how could I?_

S~

_*_WO

**The Great Hall, Hogwarts, June 1997 (13)**_** …11:38 a.m. **_**(Entry from Snape's diary)**

_I've just finished bathing Harry. I never let the mediwitches near him save to administer his potions. On rare occasions, when Brady or Reddy aren't here, I've dressed the wounds on his wrists and ankles. They know I do it, but a couple of those irritating, fish-eyed ninnies from St. Mungo's still sneer at me and complain—as if I give a damn._

_Harry's gotten thin despite the nutritional potions, and he's still black and blue everywhere, except his ears. I never noticed before, but they're perfect, his ears. Perfect little whorls of flesh settled just so on his head. God, I must be tired! Going on about my son's ears, really?_

_The Dark Lord is dead and the war is over, and yet it couldn't have come at a worse time. Harry and I were just getting past that revelation about the prophecy; we were just settling into being a family again. Sometimes I can't wrap my mind around how much things have changed between us. But it doesn't matter. Nothing matters beyond him waking up and being whole._

_Draco and Miss Granger attended Fred Weasley's funeral earlier this afternoon. The family held the service here because, it seems, half the wizarding world is still here in the castle or billeted in Hogsmeade and a few other nearby villages, but they will bury him on their land, the Burrow, Harry calls it. He'll be gutted to find out that boy is dead and that he missed the service._

_I left it to Draco to give the family my condolences and my excuses. Imagine my shock when Molly and Arthur stopped by after the service. God, I don't know if I could have done the same if I had just come from one of my children's funerals, but they displayed an inordinate amount of concern for my well-being, considering. The pain they must be feeling having committed their son to the ground is utterly unimaginable._

_Their boy's service is not the only one that has been performed these past few weeks: Seamus Finnigan, Parvati Patil, Michael Corner, Megan Jones, the Macmillan boy, little Creevey, Rolanda Hooch, Moody… And those are the ones I know of. There have likely been more services, their families choosing to have them elsewhere. Draco has attended the ones held here at the school; he hardly mentions them, but nor do Miss Granger or Mr. Weasley. _

_The hall slowly empties as people recover. Or die. Goddamn war. All those lives, gone. I would never say so in front of Draco, but I've told Papa that if Harry dies, I should want to die, too._

_I wish it were me lying there. It _should_ be me lying there._

S~

*WO

**The Great Hall, Hogwarts, June 1997 (16)**_** …2:27 p.m.**_

"Severus?" Draco held out the tidy bundle he brought the man every day. Snape dragged his gaze from Harry long enough to take it.

"You're early."

"And you look a fright."

Snape hitched a brow. "Well… I thank you for the clothing and the rather…blunt observation. Having endured such criticism from a youthful age, it has luckily made me rather immune."

"You know what I meant..."

"Yes, you meant precisely what you said. Nevertheless, your honesty is appreciated."

"You do always tell Harry and me to speak our minds," Draco said, offering up a small, cheeky smile.

"Mm, silly me."

Draco nodded toward Harry. "Has he asked for me?" Snape's face relaxed a bit at the boy's question disguised as a joke, one he made every day.

"No. There's been no change."

"Stubborn Gryffindor." Draco stepped up to straighten a minor wrinkle in Harry's covers. "Hurry up and wake up, you attention hog." The eerie intermittent beeping of the life-support machine intruded as he gently stroked an imaginary bit of lint from Harry's cheek. Gray eyes followed the multi-colored spikes tracking and timing Harry's "breaths". For something that was keeping him alive, it looked and sounded strangely hollow and lifeless. Muggle magic. What could their machines do for Harry that magic could not? Draco looked over at Snape, unsurprised to find the man still there. "Go change. I'll sit and fawn over His Royal Highness while you're gone."

"In a minute."

"Somehow I knew you'd say that." Draco walked to the curtain. "Just remember, I'm doing this for your own good."

"What are you talking about?" Snape frowned.

With his eyes on Snape Draco pulled the curtain aside and said: "Professor?"

Snape stared at him as McGonagall swept into the space. "What is going on?" he asked when Auror Selby "Willie" Williamson appeared; Auror Brân Savage, clean-shaven, black curls tucked behind his ears, followed. Savage's lips tightened angrily when he got a good look at Snape.

"Severus, as headmistress, I have every right to look after my staff's well-being. I know you don't want to be away from Harry for even a second, but either you go with these two men, or I'll… I'll banish every stitch of clothing you have on."

Snape's mouth fell open. "You wouldn't dare –"

McGonagall marched past Snape to perch on the edge of the small sofa next to Harry's bed, usurping Snape's place of retreat; she crossed her ankles, drew her wand and raised it toward him, as if preparing to follow through on her threat. Snape balled his hands into fists.

"Severus," Draco said, then shrank back when Snape turned his furious eyes onto the boy.

"Don't you dare be angry with him!" McGonagall snapped. "He's worried about you! We all are!"

"I am not leaving! You can't make me!"

"When Harry fell ill earlier this year, Dumbledore would rather have died than pull his wand on you. But you know me, Severus, I have no such compunction. Continue to defy me and I'll have you starkers before you take your next breath!"

Snape stared at her, grappling for something cutting to say. He opened his mouth as if to say it, then his skin whitened alarmingly. "I –" he began, then tipped sideways, mouth slack, eyes blank. Savage caught him before he hit the floor.

*WO

**The Great Hall, Hogwarts, June 1997 (17)** _**…12:07 p.m.**_

**(Entry from Snape's diary) **_Eighteen hours. I slept eighteen hours, straight through. I'm still feeling a bit rough, but I'm back at Harry's side. Galen told me that Draco, Mr. Weasley, and Miss Granger split shifts to sit with him whilst I slept. Draco read one of Miss Granger's books to him_._ Supposedly he was trying to annoy Harry with his voice, but I think he –_

Harry was choking. Something was lodged in his throat, killing him. Desperate to take in air his chest arched painfully as he inhaled.

"Harry?" Diary, quill, ink, and nerves scattered as Snape jumped up off the sofa. "POPPY! GALEN!"

_Dad?_

_Harry! Oh god._

Harry tried to open his eyes, to see Snape—they didn't work; nor did his head when he tried to turn it toward the sound of Snape's voice—but then, Snape wasn't speaking out loud, was he? And neither was Harry.

_Dad!_

_Yes, Harry, yes, what is it?_

… _Can't... breathe…_ Harry's hands flopped uselessly at his sides as he tried to raise them, tried to reach the log in his throat to pull it out.

Snape shouted: "Someone get this goddamned thing out of his throat before I spell it away!"

Something crashed to the floor as what sounded like a herd of hippogriffs stopped at the foot of Harry's bed.

"Severus, step aside!"

_No! Don't leave!_

_I'm not going anywhere. I'm here, right here. I'm – Can you feel me? _Snape stroked the back of his hand against Harry's cheek.

_Yeah, s'kinda cold…_

_Sorry._

_S'okay. Feels ni – _Harry gagged. _Wha – What's happening? What was that?_

_I –_

"There, that should relieve it a bit…"

_Harry, is that better?_

…_A little… That's Galen, isn't it?_

_Yes._

_Did you know he was Papa's grandson?_

_Yes, I did. Oh, Harry, you have no idea how good it is to hear your voice!_

_Then why do you sound so sad?_

_I'm not, not at all. I'm so pleased that you're awake and talking._

_Well, not exactly talking..._

Snape chuckled, earning some curious stares. _No, not exactly, but this is even better._

…_Because it's just you and me?_

_Yes, yes, yes._

"Careful of the halo, Galen."

_Who's that?_

_Ganesh Reddy, a healer. He came all the way from India for you._

_Oh… That was decent of him._

_Yes. I must say, I've given him a rather difficult time._

_Oh?_

_I've been so frightened…_

_But I _–

"Harry, old man, on three, I need you to breathe out for me, all right? One… two… _three!_" The thing in his throat slid out easily enough, but Harry couldn't manage a true breath out; it was more of a gag, which made him cough. "_Ex_cellent, Harry! Oh, very good," Reddy praised, "but do try not to move your head."

Harry frowned and coughed. _Oh, now I see why you might have given him a hard time. Try not to move my head as I cough?_

_Harry…_

_Dad, I can't open my eyes._

_There's spellotape over them._

_Oh… Can you take it off, please?_

_Of course._

"Severus, what do think you're doing?" said Pomfrey.

"I'm taking this tape off his eyes."

"Not until I say so, you're not!"

"Heyyy, Ma'am… Pomfrey," Harry whispered, his voice sounding foreign to him after all this time.

"Oh! Bless him! Would you listen to that," trilled Madam Pomfrey. Harry had never heard the nurse sound so joyful.

"You mind? 'Bout… the tape?" Harry's tongue felt horribly uncoordinated.

"Oh, you dear thing! Of course not! I'll just get it right off –"

"No, Poppy," Snape said, "let me."

"I – Oh. Oh, yes, Severus, of course."

Harry heard the crisp rustle of Pomfrey's wimple as she shifted out of the way. As Snape took her place, she cast a spell, dimming the immediate area around Harry's bed. She then drew the curtains, entombing the tiny group.

_I'll try to be careful, Harry._

_Where is everyone? Hermione? Ron? Draco?_

_Miss Granger is with her parents at the moment, but someone is alerting her that you've awakened. Draco and Mr. Weasley are here. They've just arrived._

_Mr. Weasley?_

_Ron._

_Oh._

_Ready?_

_Mm hm._

Snape gingerly pinched the edge of the tape between his fingers. He took his time, not wanting to cause Harry the least bit of discomfort. He winced as the rose petal-thin skin of Harry's eyelids puckered as he peeled the tape back; he took special care when he reached Harry's eyelashes. Long, thick, and doe-like, Snape thought they were one of Harry's best features. Once the tape was off, Harry kept his eyes closed, adjusting to the initial burst of light that was likely dim to the others, but felt like a staring session with the sun to him. After a moment, he slowly cracked them open, squinting. Everything was headache-inducingly blurry.

"Glasses… please?" He croaked.

After Snape placed them on his face, Harry took a moment to let his eyes adapt to the lenses. He tried to bring his hand up to settle the wire-rimmed frames more comfortably on his nose, but his arm had all the strength of a cooked noodle.

"Feeling all right?" Galen asked. "Are you experiencing any burning, achiness, throbbing? Is it overly bright?"

"No, s' fine," Harry whispered.

Blinking, he slowly gained focus, taking in the faces around him. A rosy-cheeked Madam Pomfrey gazed at him, hands clasped to her bosom. She was smiling, pleased that he was awake, but her brown eyes, still bright and sharp were muted with grief; Draco's expression was flat, nondescript, but his hand resting lightly on Harry's foot told Harry all he needed to know about how the boy was feeling; Ron looked terribly drawn and lankier than ever, but his blue eyes sparkled with relief once Harry's eyes met his. Harry thought he had never seen Ron look sadder, but somehow knew it had nothing to do with him. Finally, he shifted his eyes to find Snape.

The man's dark eyes were blown with exhaustion, red-rimmed and glassy, but they brightened when they connected with Harry's; they grew concerned when the boy frowned.

_C'mere._ Harry said.

Snape looked at Harry, puzzled.

_Please?_

_What is it? Is anything wrong?_

_No._

_You tell me if anything feels wrong, Harry –_

_No, no, really, I just… Never seen you unshaven._

Not even when the man had been a patient in the hospital ward last June. Harry imagines Pomfrey must have cast a depilatory charm on him every day. Looking uncertain, Snape leaned down, putting his face close to Harry's.

_Can't move my head to touch you…_

_Harry…_

_Never mind. It's stupid._

_What is it you want?_

_I just wanted to feel it… Never mind._

_Silly thing. _Snape rubbed his stubble-darkened cheek against Harry's chin in a gentle caress. Harry uttered a raspy laugh and Snape pulled back, looking puzzled, again.

_Scratchy._

_Yes, well, give me a few more days and I'll look like Hagrid's long lost cousin._

Harry grinned, then someone cleared their throat.

"Are you two communicating telepathically?" Galen asked, looking back and forth between them.

"Sorry," Harry rasped.

"Wicked," said Ron.

"How much longer does he have to wear that thing?" Draco pointed at the halo.

"Oh, _ex_cellent question, Mr. Malfoy!" said Reddy, making a point to stand where Harry could see him with undue strain. "Well, now that you are awake, _you _tell us how you're feeling, Mr. Potter."

"Harry."

"Pardon?"

"Call me Harry," Harry said, surprised at Reddy's appearance. Judging from his voice, Harry would have assumed the man to be an elderly, short, rather fat guy. But Reddy, half English and half Indian, was tall, weedy, and probably only a few years older than Snape.

"Oh, _ex_cellent! You charming boy! 'Call me Harry', he says!" Reddy straightened up and clapped his hands, his big black eyes, shiny and pleased. "Why you delightful thing, you!"

"Red," Galen said, trying not to smile. His old mentor never changed. "Can we move this along?"

"Oh, yes, of course, of course. I do tend to carry on, don't I? But it's truly _fascinating_ stuff going on here. I've never seen anything like it. You can't burn that bright and not burn out. You're a powerful wizard, Harry. Your magic should be gone, yet it is aiding in your recovery, helping you heal. I can't imagine what it will be like once it comes back full strength. I say, had it been anyone else –" Reddy jumped when Galen cleared his throat. "Well, I reckon that's neither here nor there, however, I think being taken off the respirator is rather enough for today. Why don't we see about switching out the halo for a neck brace in a couple days, yes? There's no rush, is there? No need to have all the fun in one go, eh?"

"No, sir," said Harry. He really wanted the halo thing off his head, but he also didn't want to be on the ward longer than necessary. If he was healing as fast and as well as Reddy said, he definitely didn't want to risk a setback now by taking the thing off too soon.

"That doesn't mean I can't check you out though, see how things are progressing. You up for it?"

"Sure."

"There's a good chap!" Reddy beamed, then he clapped his hands and briskly rubbed them together for a moment. "Should warm the old mitts up a bit, eh? Right then, let's get started!" Reddy wrapped his fingers around Harry's throat, applying gentle pressure as he slowly rolled his fingertips up and down the back of Harry's neck, over bony protrusions that had been a swollen, inflamed mess weeks ago. "Feeling any discomfort, Harry?"

"No."

"_Ex_cellent… How about now?"

"No."

"Now?"

"Unh unh."

"Good," Reddy said; Harry yawned. "That exciting, am I?" Reddy grinned brightly.

Harry crooked his lips in a smile at the healer. "Jus' feelin' li'l foggy."

"Oh, well, that's fine," said Reddy as he moved away. "It's just your body reminding you that it's not up to snuff just yet."

Harry yawned again and his eyes drooped closed. "Dad… Don' wanna go sleep. Dad –" His fingers twitched weakly in his effort to reach out to the man.

"Shh, Harry. Rest," Snape said softly as he enveloped Harry's hand in his own. "I'll be here when you wake."

*WO

**The Great Hall, Hogwarts, June 1997 (17)** _**…9:42 p.m.**_

Upon waking, Harry heard Madam Pomfrey murmuring to someone, but the hall was quiet beyond that. Someone was gently stroking his hand. He breathed in: cinnamon and cloves. He opened his eyes and rolled them to the left to find Snape. Harry wished he could turn his head. As it was, without his glasses, he could only (blurrily) see half of Snape's face. The buttery glow from the bedside torch softened the man's hawkish features.

"Would you like something to drink?" He asked Harry.

"Yes, please." Harry watched as Snape filled a glass with water then put a Muggle straw in it—the kind with the bendy neck. Snape brought the glass close to Harry and directed the straw to his mouth. Harry drank greedily, the cool liquid soothing the deserty rawness in his throat—until Snape pulled the straw away.

"Still… thirsty…"

"That's enough for now, I think."

"Dad…"

Snape sighed. "All right, but just a bit more, and you must take it slowly."

Harry tried to nod, but the halo prevented it—blasted thing. He took another draught, but all too soon, Snape pulled the straw away and set it on the bedside table.

"Sir?"

"Yes, Harry?"

Harry swallowed before asking, his words slow and deliberate. "Lie down… with me?"

Snape frowned. "Absolutely not. Galen and Poppy will need to check you over now that you're awake, and –"

"They can, l-later…" When Snape said nothing, nor moved to join him, Harry managed a tiny, tired smile and said: …_Won't tell if you won't_.

Against his better judgment Snape did as Harry asked. He rose then eased a hip on to the right side of the bed. He took his time, slowly pivoting to bring his legs up onto the bed to stretch out next to Harry. He took great pains not to jostle the boy too much, but Harry's sharp intake of breath let him know it was nearly impossible to move without doing so. Snape kept going though, knowing Harry would not be satisfied until Snape was on the bed with him. After several moments of the man getting settled, Harry welcomed the soft, humid puffs of Snape's breath on his cheek.

_Who all died?_

_Oh, Harry…_

_Hermione wouldn't tell me, and I just… I –_

_Hush. _Snape smoothed a hand over Harry's chest._ There's no need to talk about that this very second._

_It's kinda good we're talking like this. I can't hear anything in my left ear._

_Pettigrew._

_From him kicking me?_

_Yes._

_Will I ever hear out of it again?_

_No._ Snape pressed a whispery kiss to Harry's cheek.

_Is he in Azkaban?_

_No. I took care of him._

…_Oh. He thought I was my father. He'd gone mad, hadn't he?_

_Yes._

_Where is everyone?_

_Everyone? I can't possibly account for everyone…_

_You know what I mean. Hermione, Ron, Draco._

_Ah, yes, the usual suspects. Well, as it is late at night, I imagine your Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley are asleep. Draco is in the bed to the right of you._

_Is he taking care?_

_Mr. Zabini has been quite a comfort to him._

_Blaise?_

_Mm. He had dinner with Mr. Zabini, his mother, and a few other Slytherins last night._

_Ron all right with that?_

_Why wouldn't he be?_

_Oh, er, he likes Draco. As more than a friend, I think._

_Oh._

_You think that's weird?_

_No._

_So, you'd be okay with it?_

_Yes, Harry._

_Oh… How's everyone else? Dean, Neville, Theo?_

_Mr. Thomas has spent nearly every free moment with Miss Weasley and her family. He stopped by a few hours ago as did Mr. Longbottom, but you were asleep. Mr. Nott reunited with his father the night of the battle and is now in Germany to collect Mrs. Nott and her mother. They plan to return for Dumbledore's funeral._

_Dumbledore…dead. And Seamus and Parvati and Madam Hooch and Dennis a-and –_

_Enough. You've gone and got yourself all worked up…_ Snape stroked Harry's tears away.

_But they all –_

_Hush, hush, hush. Go to sleep._

They lay quietly. Snape thought Harry had gone to sleep. He had begun to doze himself when Harry's voice in his head woke him.

_Dad?_

_Yes, Harry._

_Draco said… My hair..._

_Poppy had to shear it off. Your skull was fractured…from the fall –_

_Now who's gone and got himself all worked up?_

_It was just dreadful to see –_

_Don't. I'm all right—head feels funny, though. Do I look funny?_

_No._

_Really?_

_Really. Does it upset you?_

_Not really. I mean, it'll grow back. It did when Aunt Petunia cut it._

_She used to cut your hair?_

_Yeah, never wanted to waste money at a barber. Once, when I was eight, she cut it really short, made me go to school looking like an idiot. She got mad when I got home 'cuz it had grown back, so she cut it again, except that time she cut it all off. She made an awful mess of it._

_Made a mess of it, did she? Why that foul, loathsome –_

_Getting worked up again._

_I just can't believe –_

_Dad, s'all right. _Harry yawned.

_Of course you'd say that. I'll never forget the way she –_

_No, what Pomfrey did._

_Oh._

_Needed a-a haircut a-an – _Harry yawned again.

_Hush now and go to sleep. I mean it this time._

_Stay with me?_

_I'm not going anywhere._

_Don' have… be so… grumpy._

_Cheeky creature._

…_luh me… en ee way…_

"Yes, I do."

*WO


	33. Chapter 33

Disclaimer: JK Rowling's characters.

**Potions Classroom, Hogwarts, July 1997 (20)**

"Hi."

The quill Snape was using slipped from his fingers as he shot out of his chair to step around the front of his desk.

"Harry, you should—"

"Leave?" Harry eyed the crates stacked up like bricks against the wall.

Snape's brows drew together. "You should be _resting_."

Harry scowled. "My arse hurts from all the _resting _I've been doing…"

"Rather your arse hurt than you ending up back on the hospital ward." Snape crossed his arms over his chest. "You know Poppy thinks you left her care far too soon. She is looking for any excuse to get you back into her clutches."

Harry sighed. Snape was right. If Pomfrey saw him, she would raise hell, hustle him back to his room, and tuck him into bed herself. But he was tired of lying about, his only fun picking at Draco.

"You were gone when I got up. Draco, Papa, and I had breakfast without you. And lunch."

"Yes… I'd intended to have this completed by noon."

"Dobby could have hel –" Harry began, then stopped when Snape hitched a brow at him, as if to ask, 'Are you really going to finish that sentence?' Careful not roll his eyes, Harry nodded at Snape's desk. "You mind?" Clear of its usual potions paraphernalia the massive oak workspace looked even more gigantic and weirdly naked, like a plucked chicken.

Snape narrowed his eyes and said, "_Potter._" When Harry's lips twitched into something resembling a smile, Snape froze.

Since leaving the hospital ward, Harry's easy grins were as rare as a "How do you do?" from Filch, and because the boy's moods were so contrary and unpredictable, Snape never knew what to expect. Like now, the shadowy grin faded to nothing as Harry turned his attention to his own feet.

It was one of those days. Sometimes he took a step without too much thought. Then there were days like today when his body believed that he should be using the crutches or even the walker. The problem with that line of thinking was that when he used those things, his ego told him he was regressing. It wasn't true, of course, because to everyone's gape-mouthed astonishment, he was still improving, but too slowly for his liking.

After looking at his feet (a habit he soon hoped to be rid of), Harry shifted his weight, leaning on the walking-stick in his right hand. It was a remarkable piece. Not a day passed that someone didn't compliment him on it. Beautifully intricate spirals resembling a hart and a serpent had been carved into the smooth, dark olive-brown wood. Aberforth had commissioned Charlie to craft it.

While Harry had been unconscious, the old wizard had refused to hear talk of the possibility he might not walk again. Harry had sacrificed more than his fair share, Aberforth believed. To him, it didn't seem farfetched to think the boy would walk once he woke up; it was only a taste of what Harry deserved, after all. But there had been no absolutes. No one had known what kind of shape Harry would be in when he woke—if he woke.

When he did, though, Aberforth immediately sought out Charlie Weasley. He and Charlie had remained friendly since Charlie took over Hagrid's position, and knowing the young man as he did, Aberforth recognized that the sudden void in the Weasley family led Charlie to drink too much and sleep too little. The imbalance slashed the man's notorious patience nearly to nothing. Luckily, Ginny spent much of her time with him so that when someone offered their condolences for Fred, Charlie didn't rip their heads off. Ginny was happy to look after her brother. If Ron belonged to Bill, she belonged to Charlie.

After taking a day to sober up and closing his eyes for longer than an hour, Charlie spent three days making the stick. He could easily have used magic, but he had chosen to whittle the wood the Muggle way. "I made the handle from the horn of a stag," Charlie told Harry when, with only Snape, Draco, and himself for an audience, Aberforth had presented it to Harry. "I made the stick from an ash tree. I researched it and learned that the ash tree symbolizes sacrifice. Other than James and your mum, I can't think of anyone who has sacrificed more to keep you safe than your dad here." Charlie nodded at Snape.

Harry had spent the rest of the night clutching and staring at his gift, mouth falling open every now and then as if to say something, but words never came. Then the next day, to everyone's horror, he demanded a walker. Snape, Galen, Pomfrey and the Muggle surgeon who repaired Harry's shattered femur, had all refused him outright, but Harry repeated his demand the next day and the next, green eyes stubborn with want, mouth an angry line. The line eased when he received a walker the following day. The day after that, he used the walker to hobble around his bed, a cursing Snape plastered to his back, an exasperated Draco, Ron, and terrified Hermione surrounding him at every other point. He was shattered afterwards, but he did it again the next day, and for a week until he made it to the entrance without his human buffers. The next week, he wanted crutches. He pushed himself and a week after that he graduated to his beautiful walking-stick.

At present, Snape marked Harry's every movement as the boy shuffled across the room. His legs were still slow to react when getting started, but after the first couple of steps, the nerves and muscles begin firing together. At the desk, he turned to brace his hands and arms to lift up his body. Snape gripped the bureau's oaken edges hard enough to zap the circulation in both hands. He ached to help Harry, to hold him, but he knew better.

It took Harry a little over a minute, but once seated he scooted over, close enough that his arm brushed Snape's. Harry had loved being touched before the battle, much like an attention-starved puppy. He had loved having his hair stroked, his back rubbed, and Snape had spoiled him with full-body massages after Quidditch practices. But since regaining consciousness, he had become skittish about people putting their hands on him. His bones still ached and some folks in their enthusiasm handled him far too roughly.

Harry closed his eyes and rested his head on Snape's shoulder, tilting it so that his breaths, coming faster than they should, puffed up onto the skin beneath Snape's jaw. That momentary weakness provided the perfect excuse for Snape to put an arm around the boy. As Harry relaxed more, Snape lifted his hand. He ran it lightly along the fuzzy black patches growing wild around the scar scoring a path at the back of Harry's skull. At his touch, Harry's breathing calmed.

"Feeling all right?" Snape said quietly, marveling as he looked at Harry. The man had never had a hard and fast opinion about beauty, as he found it in so few things, but Harry's dark lashes crowning the yellowish bruising that still lingered beneath his eyes struck the man as obscenely beautiful. He couldn't help smiling, glad Harry's eyes were closed, glad to exploit this moment of selfishness.

Harry opened his eyes to look up into Snape's. "Better, now. You?"

Snape dipped his chin in a nod, not trusting himself to speak.

"It's finally over," Harry said, after a moment.

"For now. Those who weren't captured will likely regroup."

Harry shifted away from Snape to sit up straight. "Think Malfoy'll head them up?"

Snape shrugged and put his hands in his lap. "Death Eaters are a vicious lot. He will have to earn that spot, kill for it, but he has always had an insatiable hunger for power."

"He'll come after Draco, won't he?"

"Yes," came out a low, angry hiss.

Harry nodded, as if coming to a decision. "I should have killed him when I had the chance."

"What?" Snape frowned. "No! Killing a man is –"

"I killed Voldemort."

"He wasn't a man. He was an…abomination, an experiment."

"You only say that because you don't want me to feel bad for killing him, but I don't." Harry looked at Snape, unblinking. "I'd do it again."

"…But it isn't the same, Harry."

"I don't –"

"Listen to me, after nearly dying that night in '81, the Dark Lord used the blackest, vilest magic to remain in the world as nothing more than a spook. I say again, he was not a man, and believe me, had you killed Lucius, your feelings would be completely different."

Harry agreed with Snape about Voldemort, he had not been a man, but nothing would change his mind about Lucius. He should have killed him in that corridor, that much he knew, and if Lucius ever crossed his path, he wouldn't make the same mistake twice.

"You love him, Draco, I mean," Harry said, changing the subject.

"Mm."

"Why?"

Snape regarded Harry a moment, then said, "You know, he's never asked me that of you."

"Oh…" Harry flushed. "I… Nevermind."

Snape sighed and tucked a lock of hair behind his ear, something Harry had never seen the man do; the gesture made him seem young, vulnerable. "If you must know, in many ways, he reminds me of someone," Snape said, though it seemed to cost him.

A sour, teasing expression settled on Harry's face. "Lucius?"

Snape snorted. "Certainly not."

"His mother?"

"Narcissa and I weren't particularly close."

"Who, then?"

"Harry…" Snape frowned.

"All right," Harry said. "Keep your secret." He then surprised Snape with another half-smile. When Snape's lips relaxed into a responding grin, Harry muttered, "Tell me later."

Snape hitched a brow at the boy's sneaky expression. Gods, Draco was rubbing off on him. "Mm," Snape said, "rather later." He scratched at his left wrist. Harry reached to encircle it gently in his hand. Snape watched the boy push up his robe sleeve, then fumble with the button on his shirt sleeve. Eventually he got it open and shoved it back, exposing Snape's skin.

When Voldemort disintegrated, the scar from Wormtail's _Incendio_ ruptured. Snape hadn't noticed it until Galen pointed it out in the Great Hall. While inspecting the weeping, pussy wound, Pomfrey had screeched at him: "You should have had this looked at right away! Do you _want _to lose your hand? It's not as if you didn't come close to losing it last summer, is it?" Snape had borne her abuse because though she talked nonstop, she never paused in her work. Had he dared to interrupt her, she would have stopped to glare at him, and it would have taken her that much longer to fix him up, which would have meant more time away from Harry.

Pomfrey removed the bandages days before Harry woke, but one day, Harry had overheard Draco and Snape talking about it. When he demanded the man show it to him, he had been astonished to see a tiny star-shaped scar in place of the previously damaged flesh. Even more surprising had been Snape's expression; it had softened upon revealing it to Harry.

"I s'pose now you can go into Fred and George's shop, no problem." Harry ran his thumb lightly over the tiny bubble of flesh.

"Harry…" Snape eyed the boy, worried.

"Don't!" Harry growled softly. "I _know_ Fred's dead! It's just hard to mention one without the other!"

Snape bit the inside of his cheek. Harry did know Fred was dead, but sometimes the faulty memory kicked in, forcing him to repeat himself, or to stutter, his mouth moving, with no sound until his brain caught up. Even if he didn't recognize it, Snape did. Harry sighed, annoyed at Snape's concern. He applied a possessive pressure to Snape's wrist. "You felt it when he Summoned the others," he said.

"Twinges. Nothing at all like before Pettigrew burned it off."

"It's why you'd leave in the middle of things, isn't it?"

"Mm."

"But you went other times too, when he hadn't Summoned anyone…"

"It was necessary, Harry. Had I stayed away it would have been impossible to communicate with Andromeda Tonks. We wouldn't have known anything of how she and the kidnapped children were faring."

"Someone else could have done it," Harry said bitterly. "Someone else had to do it after you came back hurt and Dumbledore forbade you to leave the castle."

Snape said nothing. Dumbledore had always been horrifyingly emotional about people, but as head of the Order, he had been practical, to a fault, about their roles in the war, so Snape had continued spying after being injured. Though Dumbledore had expressed his displeasure with Snape leaving the castle, he had never technically forbid it. Snape imagined Dumbledore suspected he was still leaving, but because the old wizard had kept his counsel, Snape took it as approval.

And while he hadn't promised Harry he'd stop spying, Snape had been at war with himself then about whether to tell the boy. Now, he worried that when he did tell, Harry might not forgive him. It wouldn't matter that no further harm had come to Snape—what would matter was that he had promised to be truthful following the revelation of his part in the Potters' deaths. And damn it all, spying without Harry's knowledge had felt a lot like lying.

"Dad?" Harry said, bringing Snape back to the present.

"Yes?"

"I asked you if he would have killed the children… You okay?"

"Fine, I'm fine. I – I couldn't say. I do know that when he first began kidnapping them they were nothing more than a bit of psychological warfare."

"Psychological warfare?"

"Yes. By taking the children of those people who had made considerable headway in opposing him, he hoped to cow others, those who might be pondering joining those groups or kickstarting their own. Truthfully, he needn't have concerned himself with the numbers. There were so few so-called rebels at that time. It was only when he started targeting Pure-bloods in January that the ranks truly swelled, but all that activity meant Dumbledore had his hands full, too."

"Why?"

"No one outside of the Order, and the parents involved, knew that back in November, he began working to enlist help from other countries, asking them to shelter children too young to attend school whilst their parents fought behind the scenes. In January, arrangements were finalized to begin Portkeying them to safe houses of Muggle allies in the United States, Canada, to a few countries in Africa, like Ghana, where Mr. Zabini's mother is from."

"Wow."

"Australia took a fair number, but the lions share went to Europe. Then the attack on Hogsmeade happened. As a result, several families wanted to take the fight to the Dark Lord, but Scrimgeour, in a bout of level-headedness, refused to involve the DMLE; Dumbledore declined calls to fight, as well. It would have been suicidal, and a death sentence for Andromeda and the children, yet I completely understood those parents' feelings. Had it been you or Draco…"

"You wouldn't have risked the others just to save us."

Snape looked at Harry, his brow furrowed. "The only reason Dolohov made it to Azkaban instead of ending up with his head on a pike is because I didn't dare deflect my magic from the shield protecting you."

"But –"

"Harry, I make no apologies for anything I need ever do to protect you."

"B-But you couldn't have lived with yourself."

"I live with worse," Snape said coldly.

Harry stared, searching for a flicker of something, a hint of shame or remorse, but the man's hard gaze never wavered. Harry lowered his eyes; he let go of Snape's wrist. It was times like this he had to remind himself that Snape had traveled a dark path; it was times like this he also had to remind himself that though Snape had once hated him from the depths of his being he now loved him just as intensely. The man was complicated in ways Harry didn't think he would ever understand, yet that didn't make him love Snape any less.

"Why'd you join up with him?" He asked as Snape pulled his arm back.

In the midst of buttoning his sleeve, Snape stilled. He looked at Harry. The boy's normally expressive green eyes were dulled with a maturity that hadn't been so bitterly entrenched before the battle. The sight fed Snape's vengeful hope that the Dark Lord's hell was being forced to relive his death throes over and over while watching Harry regain his strength, his magic, his life. "Yes, I do owe you that," he said quietly.

"…Tell me on the way to the lake?"

Snape snorted softly. "Absolutely not. You're far too weak."

"I could use the air. It'll be fine."

"No, Harry." Snape spoke firmly.

"I haven't been outside since last week."

"You and Draco took Fang out yesterday."

"Oh, yeah." Harry frowned. He'd forgotten. Still, he wanted to go outside now. He tugged at Snape's robe sleeve. "I'll let you know when I get tired."

"I'm not falling for that one, again."

"Fine... Stay if you want. I'm going."

And before Snape knew what he was about, Harry slid off the desk. The boy cried out when he landed and stumbled, his loosened shoelace tripping him up. Snape instantly put an arm around him to balance him, but instead of lashing out, Harry grunted his thanks, leaning on Snape until he felt steady, until the ache in his left leg eased.

"I'm good," he said after several moments.

Snape made a disgusted noise and let him go, then he crouched down to secure the killer shoelace. "We'll go, you stubborn thing… but slowly, all right?"

"Yeah, yeah, slowly. As if I could run," Harry griped, barely resisting the urge to snatch his foot away from Snape.

Snape pinched his lips against a laugh as he stood up. He never took offense when Harry was like this, preferring the boy's crusty get-off-my-lawn attitude to the alternative. Despite everything, Harry didn't see himself as a victim. For that, Snape worshipped him all the more.

*WO

**Entrance Hall, Hogwarts**

Snape trailed Harry through the secret passage that led to the antechamber off the Great Hall. Hogwarts still housed a crowd and Harry diligently avoided it for as long as possible whenever he was out. People had lingered for healing, for funerals, for news of Harry, but most remained because they loathed leaving the company of the others. Life without the threat of war hanging over their heads left a void for many, but Harry was full up.

"I'll be glad when we leave for Soth-ince." He grumbled, after being swarmed in the Entrance Hall by a goggle-eyed gang of second-year Hufflepuff girls. Snape agreed. He couldn't wait to whisk the boys away to the bowl-shaped land, but he knew Harry needed more time to heal before risking such a trip.

Gouges from the battle still scarred the grounds beyond the courtyard. Great sections of it had been scorched black by fire, yet the place buzzed with activity as people savored the warm summer evening. Voices and hands raised in greeting when folks spotted the two wizards; some approached them, Harry in particular. He hated it. He wanted to be left alone to heal and be with his family, like most people, but Harry Potter was not like most people.

Since leaving the hospital ward, some people (children and adults alike) made talking to him, or getting near enough to touch him, into a game, though truly, most were respectful and kind. Of all the times he had been approached, Snape intervened only once: "Touch my son again without his permission and I will liquefy every bone in your hands, roast your manhood, and shrivel your tongue," he told the man, who had already sought out Harry at least five times that day. The man, who had seemed perfectly normal, with perfectly coiffed blond hair, and immaculate, expensively tailored robes, had fled, red-faced, in search of an Auror to report Snape's "terroristic" behavior. Harry had since discouraged Snape from speaking up. The last thing they needed was the ex-Death Eater's name in the papers, so Harry endured people's curiosity and gratitude because he understood it. But he still hated it.

Things calmed before the halfway mark, but Snape demanded they stop; Harry's steps had become sloppier and his breathing more erratic. Snape conjured a wood-slatted bench. It embarrassed him, but Harry barely raised a fuss when Snape insisted he rest; he _was_ tired.

Students had spread blankets along the lakeshore, sharing impromptu picnics. Snape watched for several minutes until Harry leaned his head on Snape's shoulder. Snape looked down at it. Giving in to a temptation he had only given in to twice—once in the Great Hall when Harry finally woke from his 'sleep', and once after he suffered his first seizure—Snape pressed a soft kiss to it.

"We should go back," he said, lightly resting his nose in the fuzz atop Harry's head. He breathed in, inhaling Harry's clean, boyish scent.

"No, I'm all right, really. Thanks for the bench."

"…All right, fine. Here, lie down." Snape conjured a pillow and placed it on his lap. When Harry complied, the man wondered at his lack of argument.

"Tell me," Harry said, blinking up at him.

Of course, Snape thought. Single-minded little wretch. He let out a breath, then said: "When I got my letter, I couldn't wait to come here. Hogwarts was to be my salvation, a respite from a home life that was…difficult." He spoke slowly, gazing out toward the lake. "Lily was my only friend here, same as she was back home. Because I didn't make friends easily, she did her best to be there for me, but we couldn't be together all the time, and she was making her own way. Making friends was rather like breathing for her, but the friends she made, or at least, certain people in her House, they despised me because I was confident in my abilities, even as a first-year. Most students and a fair number of teachers thought me arrogant, evil, so it didn't take long to gain a reputation, or to become a target, but I didn't care. I was a…resilient sort."

Harry grinned.

"Second year was when I began to gain alliances within my own House. Lily disapproved utterly, constantly prodding at me, asking how I could cuddle up with the likes of Lucius, Avery, the Lestranges."

"I think that was smart of you, you know…considering."

"Yes, but Lily, at first, she didn't understand about Slytherin, that alliances meant survival. Regardless, our friendship continued, until fifth year, at least. I begged her to forgive me after insulting her by the lake, but she was always a bit stingy when it came to forgiveness. Plus, she thought me a hypocrite for espousing Pure-blood notions while being a Half-blood myself."

"What!" Harry's eyes widened with disbelief.

Snape swiped a hand over his eyes. "Yes, my mother was a witch, beaten for her gifts by my alcoholic father who was a Muggle." Snape squinted at the setting sun as a memory came to him. His father had just arrived home from the factory stinking of smoke, sweat and malt whisky. After an admittedly foul dinner (Tobias spent most the money he earned at the factory on drink, leaving Eileen little to nothing to run the house) he beat Eileen unconscious (not for the first time) and broke Severus's arm when the eight-year-old tried to intervene.

"Dad?"

"Mm? Oh, yes…" Snape swallowed as the scene faded. "Well, at the end of my fourth year, Lucius graduated. To gain favor with the Dark Lord, he began to focus obscene amounts of energy on me."

"'Cause you were brilliant in potions."

Snape gave Harry a small smile. "Yes, but he also told me that as a Slytherin I had not shown the proper amount of dedication to the 'Cause'. He was bloody right. I had no interest in being anyone's puppet. As early as second year I'd committed to pursuing Potions. The plan was, after Hogwarts, with Albus's help, I would apprentice with Nicolas Flamel in France. It would have taken me away from my father, away from the Dark Lord…"

"You had plans! You were fucking brilliant! Why not go?"

"Near the middle of my sixth year my father died, stepped in front of a bus, drunk. That was in February. Mother hanged herself just before the summer holidays."

"Oh, Dad…"

"I had Aberforth…but by the end of that term, it was too late. Lucius was convinced the Dark Lord might place me high within his circle. His meddling caused me even more grief. Things happened…"

"The Shrieking Shack," Harry said quietly, letting a momentary burst of anger for Sirius go unchecked. He loved his godfather, but the man had some serious crap to answer for.

"Yes, and the second Pomfrey released me, I contacted Lucius. In hindsight, I realize it was completely rash, and by far the stupidest thing I've ever done. Not a day passes that I don't regret having done it, but at the time it made perfect sense."

"Bastard took advantage of you when you were weak!"

Snape patted Harry's chest, signaling that he wanted him to sit up. When Harry did, Snape said: "Harry, I knew what I was doing when I joined the Dark Lord, and I had absolutely no conscience about it. Was I vulnerable? Yes, but as far as noble excuses go, there was nothing noble about it or about the things I did to earn a place as a Death Eater. I was angry, vengeful, stupid… I hoarded what seemed like every bad feeling known to man within me and it fed a dark, ruinous hunger inside me. I spent a decent chunk of my life clinging to that darkness, a thing that should have died long before last summer." Snape paused. "I look at you and I miss your mother. Then I remind myself that I now have something of hers that is just as precious and even more necessary in my life."

Harry smiled. "The medallion. I thought it might have been destroyed along with Voldemort. I'm glad Aberforth found it."

Snape shook his head. "A trinket," he said. "Can you think of nothing else of hers I might prize above all else?"

Harry frowned, confused. He looked up into Snape's eyes. Seeing his face reflected in their dark depths, he flushed with realization. "Oh…_ Me_?"

"You," Snape said softly. "Harry, until last June, I had no expectation, no desire to survive the war, especially after that business in the Department of Mysteries… But even before that, the night the Dark Lord returned, I was at peace with not surviving, with knowing that I would either die fighting him, or that he'd kill me for being Dumbledore's man."

"Both honorable ways to go."

"Perhaps, but then I think of your parents, of how they died, betrayed; I think of the life they could have had, yet I, their betrayer, get the spoils. I get to call you my son; I get to comfort you when your dreams trouble you; I got to watch you defeat the Dark Lord; and I will get to watch you become a man, have children of your own. They won't."

"The night of the battle, I saw them, twice—once before I killed Voldemort, and then when I… well, when I died."

"Harry…" Snape sighed.

"I know you don't want to hear about that," Harry said quickly, "but I _did_ die, and – and – and I spoke to them. Mum said you needed me, and my father… He's not worried about me or mad at you. They want me with you, both of them."

This was the first time Harry had mentioned seeing his parents. He'd been afraid of how Snape would react. Snape's expression told him was right to have kept it to himself. The man stared. "You wanted to stay. With them. You wanted to die," he said, voice thick with accusation.

"…No…well, yes, I mean, I was in a lot of pain, and where they were, there was no pain." Harry paused, knowing he was botching things. "Dad, it's not what you think."

"What do I think?"

"…That I wanted to stay because I love them more than you."

"It's not a competition, Harry." It's not, Snape told himself.

"I know, but they're my blood and I do love them. But I never knew them. Not really. You I know; you I would die for."

Snape looked off toward the forest, again. The sunset's fire reflected in the moisture glittering in his eyes. He cleared his throat and blinked rapidly. A strong gust of wind carried his hair up and away from his face forming a mad cloud. Harry thought he looked beautiful with his prominent nose and sharp cheek and jawbones, like a Choctaw chief beneath a headdress of silken black feathers.

Snape cleared his throat again. "As with most things, you are singular in that thinking."

"That's not true."

"Harry, I'm the last of a troubled generation, not to mention the least likely to be missed."

"Stop it! Stop it! I'd miss you!"

"Oh, it isn't self-pity, Harry. It's… I've lived through some rather horrid things and a bit of rest would have been welcome."

"You'd welcome death over life?" Harry frowned, stricken. "…Even now?"

"No! God, no! Of course not!" Snape took Harry's face in his hands. "God, Harry, forgive me… I was simply being honest."

Harry closed his eyes. "I just… I can't bear to hear you talk like that…" He began to hiccough.

"Come," Snape said, gently pulling Harry into his arms. He reached to smooth Harry's hair off his forehead, then realizing what he'd done, he sighed, staring at Harry's head resignedly. "When you had hair, its sticking out everywhere annoyed me to no end. Now I can hardly wait for the unruly mess to grow back."

Harry hiccoughed and laughed. "Hermione likes it. Says it makes me – _hic _– look rugged." He rolled his eyes in disbelief. "Ron's weirded out by it, though."

When Harry hiccoughed again, Snape reached out to gently stroke his throat as he muttered an incantation, putting a stop to the dreaded spasms.

"Oh…Thanks," Harry said. Snape nodded curtly.

As they sat there, Harry still in Snape's arms, dusk began its slow creep across the sky, a signal for the picnicking students to gather their things and go inside. "We should return to the castle, as well," the man said, standing. "You need a lie down before dinner."

Harry rose too, leaning heavily on his walking-stick. "I'm not that tired, plus I want see Hermione."

"Indeed?" Snape's eyes shone with teasing amusement as he banished the bench.

Harry rolled his eyes. "I haven't seen her since lunch, and after everyone leaves tomorrow, I won't see her until she comes to Soth-ince."

"How will you _ever_ survive the next week?"

Harry softly knocked his elbow into the man's ribs as they started back to the castle. "Have you ever been in love?" He asked, thinking of Snape's reaction to the scar on his wrist.

"Once. But that is something for another day when you're older. Much, much older."

Harry poked his lips out, annoyed. "You sound like Papa. I'll be of age in a few weeks, you know."

"Don't remind me," Snape said tightly.

Harry stopped walking; Snape stopped, too, concerned. "It doesn't mean I'll stop needing you," Harry said.

Snape flushed and clasped his hands behind his back. "As you say."

They resumed their slow plod, and despite Harry's protests to the contrary, he was flagging.

"Harry, I'm going to have to carry you," Snape said.

"Dad, _no_!" Harry reddened as a passing group of Ravenclaw and Slytherin girls cooed and exchanged sugar-sweet glances.

"But you're shattered," Snape said, oblivious.

Harry opened his mouth to argue, then spotted someone moving quickly against the tide of bodies sluicing into the courtyard. He tensed. Harry tended toward flight when quickly approached anymore, but once he realized it was Draco, he relaxed.

"You all right?" Draco demanded, with a concerned frown.

"I'm fine." Harry growled. God! Sometimes Draco was as bad as Snape.

"Right, Paleface," Draco said. "Where did you two get off to?"

"The lake, talking," said Snape.

"Oh. Any interesting topics?"

Harry snorted. "Just can't help being nosey, can you?"

"Not that you know anything of nuance, Potter, but there is a distinct difference between being nosey and innately curious."

"Yeah, several syllables and a dash of self-justification."

Draco hitched an eyebrow. "Damn that Granger. You have got to stop letting her read to you from the dictionary."

"Piss off…" Harry batted a hand at the boy's shoulder; the grinning Slytherin danced out of reach, avoiding it easily. Harry started to give chase, but Snape snagged him before he could get going.

"Poppy would have my head if you ended up back on the ward."

"But –"

"He's right, Potter. I'll toss you out of the window myself if I have to spend another night in that place."

"Fine… but don't plan on sleeping too soundly tonight. Or the next few months," Harry warned.

Draco flapped a hand at him. "Yes, yes. I'll remember to be frightened."

"Where've _you_ been?" Harry asked.

"Swamped, fending off my usual slew of admirers. I'm ridiculously famous, you know."

"Having been transfigured into the makings of a neck warmer by Fake Moody doesn't count."

Draco scowled. "Shut it! Truly, I came to find you because I overheard something. Weasley's brother, the one that deals with dragons –"

"Overheard my arse," Harry muttered. "And it's Charlie." If what he thought was happening between Ron and Draco was happening, Draco needed to get a grip quick on which redhead was which in the Weasley family.

"Yes, yes, anyway, he was speaking with Minister Shacklebolt about the Baddocks."

"What about them?"

"A team of Aurors found them holed up on an Unplottable Baddock family property. Weasley's other brother, the one with that repulsive fang hanging from his ear, broke the curses shielding their land."

"Bill." Harry exhaled an impressed breath. "Damn, he's good!"

"Quite, but…he was hurt."

"What?!"

"Werewolf. Seems the Baddocks had one on their payroll to guard the place. Malcolm escaped, but Evan, Imelda and the werewolf did not; Aurors killed the werewolf and took Imelda and Evan into custody. Ron's… Weasley's brother, he'll be fine, but they aren't sure how the wound will affect him, if he'll, you know, become one of them."

Harry turned to Snape. "Is there any chance of that happening? Could Bill become a werewolf?"

Snape shook his head. "Without knowing anything about his injury, I couldn't say."

"Well that would truly be… God, haven't they suffered enough, with Fred…" Harry's knuckles whitened around his walking-stick.

"Weasley's parents and the dragon slayer have gone to him. He's at St. Mungo's. They left this for you." Draco held out a bit of parchment.

_Harry,_

_We're sorry to have missed saying goodbye, but we must go check on Bill. We hope to see you soon at the Burrow and hope that you will have an extended stay with us. 'Til then, dear heart,_

_Molly and Arthur_

"Ron and Ginny still here?" Harry passed the parchment back to Draco.

"Mm." Draco nodded. "They're with the surviving twin."

Harry sighed. Poor George. In all the chaos and horror of that night, he hadn't received a scratch. Harry couldn't imagine how it weighed on George, seeing his twin eviscerated while he escaped unharmed. Ron told Harry that since that night, George had said barely two words to the family, but that he talked to Fred all the time. Ron knew this because he had gone to sit with George one night and found his brother talking to air. The times the family was able to get him up and out, people shied away when they passed. Ginny had punched a man in the mouth when she overheard him call George pathetic.

"You seen Papa?" Harry asked.

"He and McGonagall were speaking with members of the Central African Wizengamot. Blaise's mother was with them. They had quite the load of artefacts and gifts to honor Dumbledore. I wouldn't be surprised if some were for you, though."

"I hope not," Harry mumbled. He'd received embarrassing loads of flowers, plush animals, notes, cards, singing cupids and marriage proposals. The plushies and flowers he had rerouted to St. Mungo's and King's College hospital, but he couldn't do anything about the proposals and singing cupids. Unfortunately, they became a running joke between Theo, Blaise, and Neville.

"He's got a portrait in the Headmistress's office now, Dumbledore?" Harry said to Snape.

"Yes."

"Have you talked to him?"

"Yes."

"Do you think he'd talk to me?" Draco asked.

"Why wouldn't he?" Snape said.

"I was only ever decent to him when I needed his help to escape Lucius..."

"Draco, the headmaster never troubled himself with your behavior. In fact, he's asked why you haven't been to see him. Both of you."

"Truly?" Draco looked at Snape, stunned.

"Yes."

"Oh, well… I'll speak with him when we get inside, yeah?" Harry said eagerly.

"Oh, blast and hell!" Draco spat.

"What?" said Harry, taking in the boy's scowl.

"Your demented, er, devoted disciple…"

Harry turned. Colin Creevey was sling-shotting across the courtyard toward them. After all these weeks, the media was still relentless, but beyond the initial press conference that had taken place in the main courtyard following the battle, McGonagall had barred reporters beyond Hogwarts' gates. Unfortunately, that restriction did not include Hogwarts students with cameras growing out of their necks.

The day after Harry left the hospital ward, he, Snape, and Draco had been marking a measured path down to the dungeons, then Colin Creevey launched himself at them, begging to take a photo. Snape had looked as if he wanted to gut the boy, but Harry had allowed him a picture, thinking it might be nice for Snape, considering his quarters' lack of personal effects beyond books and potions stuff. Snape had tried worming his way out of the shot, but buoyed by Harry's presence and finding safety in the growing crowd of spectators, Colin boldly encouraged the man back into the shot.

Just last week, he accosted Harry and Draco as they left dinner. Again, Harry allowed the picture, then sternly told Colin it would be the last. Draco had stepped away, understanding that Harry was the obsession, not him, but Harry dragged him back to his side. Draco snarked and grumbled, but Harry shrugged; he didn't want to be the only one subjected to Colin's lunacy. So they had stood shoulder to shoulder, unsmiling, waiting for the click of the camera, which came just as they caught sight of a cursing Trelawney slip-sliding on some goo Peeves had conjured. In the photo, which now resided on the shelf beside Snape's box of Pincher Pins, Harry and Draco were leaning against each other, laughing uproariously.

"Hiya, Harry! Draco! Professor!" Colin beamed at them. "Lovely evening, innit?"

"Yeah, s'great." Harry warily agreed.

"I don't s'pose I could tempt you into posing one last time before we all leave tomorrow morning, could I?"

"No, Creevey," Draco drawled, "you couldn't. Now, run along."

Colin looked ready to plead his case, but someone called to him. "Colin! Dad said to get your arse… What? Well, how come you can say it? …You say it all the time!"

Harry's throat closed up; he thought for a moment it was Dennis calling to Colin, but it couldn't be. Dennis was dead. It had to be an even younger Creevey, likely headed to Hogwarts in September.

"Shoot!" Colin said. "Reckon I'd better go, then. See ya Harry, Draco, Professor!" Halfway to his destination, the boy turned back. "Bollocks!" He puffed to a stop before Harry. "Almost forgot, again!" He fumbled in his trouser pocket then pulled out the fake Galleon Dennis had received as a member of Dumbledore's Army. He held it out to Harry.

Harry stumbled back a step. "No, Colin, you should keep that."

Colin shook his head. "It would make him happy to know you have it; it would make me happy. He was my little brother, but he was always so much braver than me. Please, Harry."

Harry stared. He had never seen the boy so serious. "I – "

"Please?"

Harry held out his hand. "…All right, fine. T-Thanks, Colin."

Colin nodded as he dropped the coin into Harry's hand. Then he wrapped Harry's fingers around it. After a moment, he let go and said, "Well, bye, again. Be safe. See ya in September." He then hurried back to his family.

"I started packing your things," Draco told Harry softly.

"You didn't have to." Harry cleared his throat and shoved Dennis's Galleon into his pocket to rest alongside his mother's medallion.

"We'd never leave on time tomorrow if we had to wait on you. McGonagall's dead set on closing up the castle at eleven."

"Oh, well, thanks," Harry said. They walked on in silence for a time. "Papa!" Harry called, spotting the old wizard descending the steps at a snail's pace, gnarled staff gripped tightly in his left hand.

"My boy." Aberforth rasped as a grinning Harry ascended the steps, just as slowly, to meet the man halfway. Snape shook his head, irritated at the two cripples.

"I'd like to speak with the headmaster."

Aberforth reached out, gently cupping Harry's cheek as the boy moved to stand next to him. "He wouldn't say no to that. He's been asking after you."

"That's what Dad said."

Aberforth's blue eyes twinkled. No matter how many times he heard it he relished the ease with which the honorific fell from Harry's lips. He put an around the boy's shoulder as they waited for Draco and Snape to join them. When they were all together, Draco gave a shrill whistle.

Fang exploded out of a bush, upsetting the family of jobberknolls that had been nesting there. The boarhound gave a bark by way of farewell as the family of three tiny blue speckled birds took flight, soaring toward the golden halo of the setting sun.

_**The End**_


End file.
